


Frat AU - Next Gen

by circadian_rythm, Feynite, LycheePit, scurvaliciousbay, SeleneLavellan



Series: Frat AU [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Feynite Fanwork, Multi, frat AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 14:25:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 64,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17003361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circadian_rythm/pseuds/circadian_rythm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LycheePit/pseuds/LycheePit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scurvaliciousbay/pseuds/scurvaliciousbay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeleneLavellan/pseuds/SeleneLavellan
Summary: The next generation of kids actually hit the adult world.





	1. It Begins

Kel’s strong.

And she likes being strong.

She’s been doing work-outs with her Papae for as long as she can remember, waking up in the morning and just incorporating some exercise into part of her daily routine. Like brushing teeth, combing hair, that kind of a thing. Apparently Uncle Aelynthi used to take her to his Yoga classes sometimes when he was babysitting, back before she started kindergarten, and she liked them so much that her parents signed her up for Grandpa Nithroel’s dance classes, and then swim lessons, running and eventually kickboxing, which her Papae fretted over. Papae showed her how to get her body moving, to make it strong, but it was Nanae who showed her how to throw a punch or a kick, and explained how to gauge a person’s eyes or yank off their testicles, or use almost anything as a weapon.

There’s something to be said for a well-placed punch, at times. But on the whole, Kel likes being strong for other reasons. She likes being able to carry people’s burdens for them. Likes that she can haul her cousins up, when they need it, and that she can still pick up her little sister, even though Virevas is shooting up like a weed. She likes that she can lift Eda’s feet off the ground when she hugs her, that Darevas is still sulking over losing ten arm-wrestling matches in a row.

Everyone else knows better than to accept her challenges.

Except, of course, at college, where there are total strangers and people with their own hidden strengths, all of them exploring their first proper taste of adulthood. Hearts in their throats, sometimes. Kel knows she’s lucky. She’s bringing most of her family with her, and nearly everyone’s parents have just  _suddenly_  decided that Ferelden is the place to be, and they have money and connections and a support network she knows will swoop in on the double if anyone needs it. Her parents are paying her tuition. Aunt Serahlin’s connections got her into her sorority, easily, along with Isabela, and Olwyn, and Maibrit, and she likes her new sisters, though the only one she’s really had time to meet beyond basic introductions has been Merrill.

But the guys are just down the street, in the same fraternity where Papae met practically every uncle she’s got, and there’s a new consanguinity housing building just across the way, with hotlines and fliers for their website and friendly members who’ve already come over once to talk about seasonal events and chaperoning and stuff.

It’s easy to spend time at the gym, to spend time on  _herself,_  when she doesn’t have to spend it trying to make ends meet and worrying about more than just her studies. She thinks on that when, three days after settling in, she gets her first ‘care package’ from her parents.

Who are basically a twenty minute drive into town away right now; although they’ll be heading back to Tevinter to make sure Eda and Virevas don’t miss school, soon.

The package gets delivered in the morning, right when she’s heading out for her run. It’s… huge. Big enough and heavy enough that it actually takes her some doing to get it inside. Though she does, and she enjoys the rather wide-eyed look the delivery guy gives her, while he’s in the midst of explaining that he can use the little cart he’s got to help.

She brings the box inside. Merrill’s the only other sister awake; the rest stayed up late with Isabela, whose snores she can hear drifting up through the open crack of her bedroom door. Kel deposits the box onto the table, and Merrill looks up from the extra marshmallows she’s adding to her cereal. Drunk on the power of adulthood.

“That’s a very big box,” Merrill observes.

“It’s from my parents,” Kel admits. “They… worry.”

Merrill nods in understanding.

“My Keeper worries, too,” she admits. “Much too much, I think.”

Merrill’s the actual First of a Dalish clan. Kel knows some stuff about the Dalish. Aunt Ana and Aunt Selene are Dalish by birth, and Uncle Vena practices the Dalish faith pretty devotedly. But she’s never actually been to a reservation, or any clan-held lands, and Merrill, in turn, has never been  _out_  of them. She knows the wildest blood magic, stuff that Kel’s never seen Nanae or Uncle Aelynthi do, but she spent the first day determinedly trying to figure out how the House Roomba worked because she’d never even seen the commercials for them before.

And then she named it Scooter.

Kel pulls out her bootknife and cuts open the top of the box, and is immediately greeted with a sea of packing peanuts. She gives the little kitchen recycle bin a dubious look, and then grabs a bag from the cleaning drawer, and starts scooping peanuts into it. Merrill munches on her cereal and watches with interest as Kel clears a path to the first large item in the box.

She wedges a few more peanuts away, and then pulls out a  _tub_  of moisturizing cream.

Seriously. This thing probably accounts for, like, half the box’s weight on its own. The label is written in Papae’s hand, more like a sticker he’s put on the front that just says ‘homemade moisturizer for Kel’. Inside, it looks like the kind Aunt Ana makes back home. Only enough to fill a small bathtub, rather than the usual, cheery little  bottles that she puts out in the shop.

“Is that moonshine?” Merrill asks, with interest.

She snorts.

“No. Moisturizer,” she explains, and turns the bottle demonstratively.

Rather than being disappointed, though, Merrill just nods in understanding.

“The air here is very dry,” she opines. “Normally Ferelden is damp, but I suppose it depends where you are. And on the season. And how many trees and rivers and things are around. Do you get flaky elbows? I do. Sometimes.”

Kel shrugs, and moves the jug of moisturizer a bit closer.

“Help yourself, as long as your hands are clean,” she says, and then goes back to rooting through the remaining packing peanuts – which have dropped into the veritable chasm left behind by the moisturizer jug, and cleared the top of a vacuum-sealed pack of homemade energy bars.

Underneath those, she also finds a few boxes of her favourite brand of cookies, several packets of underwear and socks, two athletic bras – one lime green, one apple red – a sweater, a bottle of vitamins, a veritable box of homemade teas, a three-pack of pepperspray, a pair of running shoes with reflective heels, and a new MP3 player.

She blinks at that one, pulling it out of the peanuts when she’s almost entirely cleared them out. Merrill has finished her cereal, by then, and is reading the label on the vitamin bottle. The player’s not in its commercial shipping package, so she puts in the earbuds, and finds herself listening to her Papae’s work-out mix.  _I have my own songs,_  she thinks, and almost rolls her eyes. But then she considers the mornings to come, in a strange house, and how often she’s heard this music just playing in the background of her life, and she comes up a little short.

Oh.

She’s… grown up, now. She’s going to  _be_  grown-up, now. She’s got plans and aspirations, she’s going to a police officer. A good one. She’s going to graduate, and find her own place, and there might be times when she goes back home or stays with her parents again, but for the most part… that isn’t going to be her life anymore. She’s not going to wake up every morning to the sounds of work-out music, not going to wander out to Nanae making breakfast, and Virevas watching cartoons, and Eda scribbling  _good morning_  on her chalkboard.

Kel sniffs.

Merrill blinks up at her.

“Is it a sad song?” she asks.

Kel hastily pulls the earbuds out, and shakes her head. Tries to get a grip, but she can’t. This is ridiculous, she thinks. It hasn’t even been that long. Her parents aren’t far away, her friends are all here…

But  _home_  is far away. Or at least part of it, and all at once her throat feels dry and she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. Her vision blurs, and a hand tentatively pats at her shoulder, as Merrill moves a little bit closer.

“Are you homesick?” Merrill asks. “I suppose Ferelden is very different from Arlathan. Do you want to tell me what it’s like? Or would that make it worse?”

Kel swallows, and bats away her tears, and Merrill moves a step off to go and grab her a napkin.

“Thanks,” she says. “Sorry, I – that was unexpected.”

“It’s all right,” Merrill assures her. “I cried all last night. It’s normal. I think. I mean the Keeper said leaving would make me miserable, and everyone always talks about how easy it is to get homesick, and things are very different for me and I’m not even in another country. Just the Brecilian Reservation. I can’t imagine what it’s like if you come from a gleaming city full of robots.”

Kel pauses, and tries to figure out if she heard that right or not as she wipes the corners of her eyes. Before she can ask where Merrill got the impression that Arlathan was full of  _robots_ – maybe the Roomba – her phone starts jangling. She swallows, and clears her throat, and then fishes it out of her pocket. Blinking at the number.

“Papae?” she answers.

“Good morning, da’vhenan,” her father says. “I hope I didn’t wake you?”

“Nope. I was just going to head out for a run, but then your care package came,” she says. “I was going through it with Merrill. She’s one of my new sorority sisters.”

Merrill gets an odd look on her face. One that she seems to whenever she gets called ‘sister’.

Kel hopes it’s because she likes the title, and not the reverse.

“Oh, good!” Papae exclaims. “Did everything make it alright? I actually had it shipped from Arlathan before we left, I wanted it to get to you in a timely fashion. I know we picked up some things when we got here, but… well… Arlathan has nicer shops.”

She chuckles at him, just a little watery.

“It’s all good, Papae. Nothing broke,” she assures him. “Not even the giant vat of moisturizer.”

“You’ll be thanking me for that before long, trust me, and I brought more if you need it,” he assures her. “And don’t share it with all your cousins and housemates, they’ll have their own.”

She watches as Merrill carefully unscrews the top and sniffs at the contents, and suddenly looks very pleased.

“No promises,” she says.

“Kel,” Papae protests. “It’s a present for  _you.”_

“And I’ll use it! But some of the other girls get dry elbows too, you know,” she tells him.

He sighs. But when he speaks again, his voice is a little more hesitant.

“There’s some music in there for you, too,” he tells her. “I know you prefer yours, most of the time, but, well. I just thought it might be nice for a change, every once in a while. Your Nanae said it was a good idea…”

“I found it,” she assures him. “Thank you, Papae. It was a good idea.” Well. It made her cry, but that wasn’t really the music’s fault.

“Remember, if anything happens, or you need us, just call,” he says. “I know you’re tough enough, but…”

He trails off.

Kel smiles, and lets out a long breath. She’s plenty strong. But not always. It doesn’t  _have_  to be an ‘always’ thing for her. That’s a luxury, she knows. It’s a privilege, and in her case, she has her parents to thank for it.

“I know, Papae. I love you,” she says.

There’s a distorted sniffle on the other end of the phone.

“I love you too, da’vhenan. I have to go, I’m burning the pancakes.”

“Go, go!” she encourages. “Save them!”

“Don’t share the moisturizer!” her father insists, right before she hangs up.

She lets out another long sigh. Mostly contented, now. No matter how much things change, some things also stay the same.

“He sounds nice,” Merrill tells her.

“He is,” Kel agrees, putting her phone away. She checks the time. She should probably start getting ready for class, actually. “Want to help me put the moisturizer into smaller bottles later? I’ll let you keep some,” she offers.

Merrill readily agrees.

~

A week into this business of university and adulthood, Kel’s parents go back to Tevinter.

She goes with them to the airport, along with Eda and Virevas, and most everyone else’s parents too, in fact. Younger siblings need to get back to school, and jobs need to be done. Houses have to be seen to, petsitters relieved of their duties. Only Aunt Selene and Uncle Dirthamen are staying ‘a bit longer’, ostensibly because Uncle Dirthamen has work to do in Ferelden and Aunt Selene decided that now was a good time to take a vacation. Coincidentally, of course.

Kel’s not really surprised when Papae bursts into tears on her.

She’s not even all that surprised when it gets her crying, too. Though that just makes him freak out a little more.

“You don’t have to stay,” he tells her. “I mean… it’s a good school and I know you’re doing well here, and if you want to stay then of course you can. We’re so proud of you. But if you need to come home, you can just come home. We can find another school. There are plenty of them, closer to home.”

She shakes her head and hugs him tight.

“I know,” she assures him.

He squishes her close and kisses her forehead, until Nanae coaxes him away, and then takes his place.

Nanae doesn’t cry. Their eyes are bright, though, and they hug her just as tightly.

“Got all your emergency contacts in your phone?” they check. “Back-up list in case your phone gets stolen?”

“Yup,” she assures them, her voice wavering just a little. They pull back and brush some of the tears off of her cheeks. Look at her for a moment, and then drag her into their arms again.

“Got your knife?”

“Got my knife.”

“Pepperspray?”

“Pepperspray too, Nanae.”

“Glory’s going to check in on you a few times,” they warn. “They promised me they would.”

Bibi Glory’s probably run background checks on her entire sorority and all of its chapters by now. She lets out a fond, rueful huff. And then Nanae lets her go, swiftly, like they’re not sure they can do it any other way. She swallows past a thick throat again, and hugs Eda, in turn.

“I’ll feed your ducks for you,” Eda assures her, in her soft, halting voice.

“You’re going to spoil them rotten, aren’t you?” Kel asks. Her foster sister gives her a look of innocence that falls decidedly flat. Most of the family’s pets are technically Papae’s, but all of them have a few that are just their own. Kel has a pair of Tevene wood ducks, not terribly bright but remarkably sweet, that inconsistently lay eggs and are generally too calm to let Screecher’s racket bother them much.

Virevas, on the other hand, is sulking.

Kel’s little baby sister has hit a recent growth spurt, and run headlong into the awkward stage of being more elbow and knee than anything else. All the back-to-school clothes Papae and Nanae got for her a few weeks ago are already too short in places, and at the start of summer she told their parents that she was going to get her hair cut short – really,  _really_ short – and now it’s coming back in in wisps and curls that keep sticking up awkwardly every morning when she rolls out of bed. She looks painfully cute and entirely furious, and she doesn’t unfold her arms when Kel leans over and hugs her.

“I’m going to miss you,” Kel tells her.

“You’re just saying that,” Virevas accuses. “You don’t  _have_  to go to school in Ferelden. There are schools in Arlathan, Papae  _just said.”_

This is an argument that’s more or less exhausted itself, so Kel leaves it be, and settles for hugging her sister into submission. After a few minutes, Virevas grumbles and unclenches enough to put her arms around her, and bury her face against her.

“I’m not going to miss you, because you’re dumb,” her sister asserts.

Papae gasps, horrified.

Kel just grins.

“Good. I’d hate if you were miserable without me,” she says. “Have lots of fun, and go in my room as much as you want.”

Virevas swallows, and if Kel’s shirt gets a little damp, well. She’s not going to tell anybody.

And then it’s time for all the rest of the goodbyes. Kel hugs so many people that by the end of it, her arms are actually a little tired. She and her Papae aren’t the only wet eyes in the crowd, either. Isabela’s holding up fine, but Uncle Tasallir’s having to wrangle  _both_  Aunt Ana and Uncle Vena’s ‘dramatics’, as they seem to have lost it. Aunt Serahlin is composed in a way that makes Kel think she’s reserving her own displays for later, while Uncle Adannar can’t stop hugging everyone. Not even just Ileth, either, though Ileth gets the most of it, and is looking pretty teary-eyed himself.

Uncle Aelynthi is doing that thing where he scrunches his face so he won’t cry. Uncle Victory isn’t even bothering, and Olwyn’s eyes are pretty shiny, too. And that’s not even getting into Rissa and Tonlen and Asarla and Varawell and Lasair and… well…

They’re an emotional bunch, it seems.

Some of the other airport goers look like they’re trying to figure out what the heck is going on. Even some of the elves, it seems. But eventually, their families get on their plane, and that just leaves her with Isabela and Ileth and Olwyn, and the twins, who came to see everyone else off, even if their parents are technically staying.

They’re all quiet as they make their way out of the airport, and down to the bus station, to catch their ride back to campus. It’s not a bad silence, but it isn’t a comforting one, either. Kel thinks it feels almost like they’re embarking on an expedition, and it’s terrifying, but exciting, too. And they have each other. Even if they’re in a strange country and their parents and aunts and uncles and siblings and cousins have all gone back home. They’re not alone.

“I need to get a dog,” Ileth opines, once they’re on the bus. It’s an older model, mostly empty, that chugs and roars its way down the road. A light rain kicks up, and starts pattering against the windows.

The rest of them all turn to look at their cousin.

But Ileth mostly seems to be talking to himself.

“Get a dog, get an education, fall in love. That’s what university’s for,” he decides.

_“Or,_ ” Isabela says. “We could actually throw wild parties and live without the yolk of responsibilities for a while. No pets, no baby siblings, no parents – I say we all get drunk, get high, take off our pants, have sex with attractive people, and barely show up to our classes. Live a little!”

“I don’t think I’m in the mood to party,” Olwyn admits. Then she tilts her head. “Well. Then again, it might take the edge off of things…”

“Do you think they’ll be alright without us?” Kel finally asks. She hadn’t even realized she was worrying about it, until the words leave her. Obviously their parents are adults, who can look after themselves – and have looked after themselves. And the rest of them. But still.

They’re also kind of…

…Well…

The six of them glance at one another.

“Why did we go to school in another country?! Why did we think that was a good idea?” Ileth demands of the roof of the bus.

“Because it was a brilliant idea!” Isabela insists. Though, she looks just the tiniest bit uncertain now.

“They’ll be fine,” Olwyn attempts, her brows furrowed. “I mean, they have the younger kids to look after, right? They won’t do anything…  er… they’ll look after each other.”

“We’re going to have to call a lot. To check in,” Kel reasons.

This is met with an immediate stream of agreement. Even from Isabela. Even from the twins, who are exchanging a look with one another, like something’s just dawned on them. Maybe the lack of younger siblings they have to keep their parents from doing something wild and midlife crisis-y?

Well.

At least Aunt Selene and Uncle Dirthamen will be the easiest to observe.

Another contemplative silence falls between them. Everybody pretends not to notice that Isabela’s worrying the little hearthkeeper symbol that Uncle Vena gave her between her fingers, as the bus chugs along, and they all think of home, and the past, and the future. The tires shriek through the deep muck of a large puddle, and spray the nearby sidewalk. Kel glances through the window, and hopes nobody was in the blast radius of that. She makes a mental note to avoid bus routes for her morning jogs.

When they finally reach their stop, though, the air feels steadier. It’s really at that point, she thinks. They’re here, and they’re staying here. Ideally until they all graduate. She lets her gaze turn over some of the nearby buildings, the streets that are slowly becoming familiar – probably helps that, compared to Arlathan, they’re very simple – and sucks in a deep breath.

The guys wave as they veer off to head down the street to their House, and she and Olwyn and Isabela make for their own.

“In all seriousness, we  _should_  have a party, though,” Isabela says. “I mean like a real, actual one. We’re adults; we’ve just hit that sweet spot in life where freedom and autonomy have been granted and yet to be constrained by things like children or mortgages. And while I absolutely plan to live in this zone for as long as humanly possible, I know it’s only a matter of time before the rest of you start doing things like getting dogs and houses.”

“You know you have to make payments on a boat just the same as a house, right?” Kel checks, and Olwyn snorts.

Isabela waves dismissively.

“Papae is buying my boat,” she says, and Olwyn snorts again, and then shakes her head.

“Sometimes I forget how  _rich_  everyone is,” she marvels, as their steps patter across the pavement, and the wind sends the rain spiralling sideways against them. “ _Papae is buying my boat._  That’s the least pirate-y thing you’ve ever said. You’re not even stealing your boat from the Imperial fleet or something.” Her tone is light and teasing.

Isabela sticks her nose in the air.

“I’ll concede that’s a fair point. Papae is buying my  _first_  boat,” she amends. “Which I will then use to steal my second boat from the Imperial Fleet. You need more than one boat for an armada, after all.”

“I’m surprised you’re even bothering with university,” Kel notes. “Seems like you’ve got it all figured out.”

Isabela just shrugs, and then loops her arms through hers and Olwyn’s.

“Everyone needs a fallback, and if I skipped university, where would I go to do all my drinking and meet my inadvisable hook-ups with the safety net of people I love and trust around?” she reasons. “I can’t do that around my  _parents,_  it’s weird.”

“I don’t think I’m going to date until I’ve graduated,” Kel reasons. “It just seems like too much stuff to deal with on top of studying and figuring things out, you know?”

Olwyn nods in easy understanding, but Isabela gives her a  _look._

“Who was talking about  _dating?”_  she asks. “Hook ups are just for fun.”

“Come on, Izzie, you know it’s not the same for everyone,” Olwyn reminds her. Isabela lets out a breath, but inclines her head in reluctant agreement.

“What about you, Olwyn?” Kel asks, raising her eyebrows. “Planning on looking for love in all the wrong places?”

Her cousin opens her mouth to reply, but then they get to the walk up to the house, and there’s a man standing in front of it.

Kel blinks, and then freezes.

Oh.

He’s a young man, at a glance. Elven, nicely built and of a good height, dressed in a very flattering pair of jeans, a grey jacket lined with white fur, and one of those tacky printed t-shirts with a picture of a wolf printed onto the front. There’s white fur on his boots, too, and a pale smattering of freckles across his cheeks. His eyes are the colour of the sky behind him, and his features are long and open, and somehow inexplicably lupine. His hair is long and thick, auburn, shaved down the sides but with the middle segment left long and braided and capped off with those crystal-y hair toggles that seem to be popular with Arlathan’s teenage crowd.

Kel’s mouth goes dry, and she feels just the tiniest bit dumbstruck.

That…

That is a very… very good-looking…

He’s saying something. He’s talking to them. She hears the tones of his voice, which is very nice, before she manages to snap out of her sudden and surprisingly visceral daze to hear Olwyn replying to him.

“No, this is our sorority house,” she says. “The fraternity house you’re looking for has the same front, but it’s on the other end of the street.”

“Oh,” the guy says, and licks his lips.

His very plush, pretty lips.

Isabela nudges her.

“Kel can show you,” she says. “Olwyn and I have a class to get to. Right, Kel? You can show the lovely young man to his house?”

She narrows her eyes at her cousin.

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” the unfairly beautiful stranger says.

Of course, she thinks. Of course the universe would probably manifest someone ridiculously, inexplicably beautiful right in front of her feet the  _moment_  she said, out loud, that she wasn’t really thinking of dating anyone. Contrary goddamn universe.

“It’s no trouble,” she finds herself saying, and sucks in a fortifying breath.

So he’s gorgeous. She can deal with a gorgeous stranger. She’s grown up around some of the most beautiful people in the whole world. This is no big deal. He’s just a person. Definitely a person, and people deserve respect, and not to be drooled on.

Yup.

She manages to get her shoulders to relax, and smiles at him; gesturing with a nod for him to follow her. The rain is letting up, although it wasn’t particularly heavy to begin with.

The guy’s shoes  _squeak_  from the moisture as he walks, though. New, and probably trendy, and covered in plastic.

“I’m Kel,” she says, with a little half bow.

“Pride,” he replies.

Something whacks into the back of her head at that name. Some kind of… recognition? But not strongly enough for her to know why. Maybe she overhead some of the guys talking about a new housemate, but probably she wasn’t listening well enough to really glean all the details. Pride returns her bow, and his shoes squeak again.

He closes his eyes briefly, and then glance slightly upwards; like he’s asking the heavens why.

Kel snickers.

Just a bit.

“It’s okay. First year of highschool I had a backpack that used to make these weird Velcro-type noises every time I moved,” she informs him.

“It’s probably the rain,” he reasons. “I bought them in Nevarra, I should have considered the climate differences before I did.”

“You’re from Nevarra?” Kel asks, a little surprised. He doesn’t sound it, or dress like it, but then, it can be hard to tell just going off of things like that. Pride shakes his head, though; sending a few of his hair toggles whipping back, until he catches them and tucks them into his collar.

“Not really, no. I just spent the last couple of years there, while my guardian was on business,” he explains. “It’s a very interesting place. A lot of antiquity. The mausoleums especially are very different. Have you ever been?”

“Can’t say that I have,” she says.

“That’s a shame. I mean, not that you should be – I mean, you can go wherever you wish, of course, and it’s hardly a detriment to be less travelled. If you even are less travelled, I mean. There are certainly places I’ve never been to. Like Kirkwall, or Par Vollen. Are you from Ferelden?” he asks. He looks a little bit like he wants to swallow his tongue.

“Arlathan,” she says.

“Oh. That’s strange,” he tells her. Then his eyes widen. “I mean, only because most elves who live in Arlathan go to schools in Arlathan. Magical education is just overall better there, and of course, the political climate is. Um. Better.”

“I’m not a mage,” Kel supplies.

His eyes widen, and he nods, and then shakes his head a little.

“Right. Yes. That would explain it,” he reasons.

She laughs.

Oh no, he’s  _awkward._

“Actually, this is my parents’ alma matter. They met at this school. My cousins and I opted to attend for the sake of… tradition, I guess.” She decides to leave out the part where one of her uncles is an Evanuris. Seems like a needless complication to things, really. And it’s not like that’s a branch of the family that gets pressed on very often; or even like it was a big factor in the decision process.

Pride nods, and stuffs his hands behind his back. He has really good posture, actually.

“What about you? I’m guessing you’re a mage. Why aren’t you at school in Arlathan? Or Nevarra?” she wonders.

He blinks, once, and then looks up at the sky a little.

“I’ve never been to Ferelden before,” he says. “Well. On a weekend, once or twice. But not long enough to actually appreciate it. This is a good opportunity for me to learn more about the culture here, while I get an education.”

That sounds a little rehearsed, she thinks.

Well.

Whatever. Maybe his guardian’s strict.

They walk a ways further, and she has to keep herself from staring at his profile. The shape of his nose is weirdly fascinating. Very elvhen, very  _Arlathan_  elvhen, and yet… not. His whole face is really interesting, in fact, she thinks. He’s got a cleft chin, and more freckles than she’d gleaned at first glance, and she thinks there are a few specks of colour in his eyes although she’d have to get closer to be sure, and she’s probably staring and almost definitely, yeah, walking too close.

She takes a step to the side, and shoves her hands into her pockets.

“Some of my cousins are in your fraternity,” she informs him.

“Oh?” he asks.

“Mmhmm. Don’t worry, they’re all nice guys. But if you get into trouble, go to Ileth first. He’s the least likely to blackmail you. If you look particularly upset about it he might even give you cookies.”

Pride grins.

“He bakes?”

“He is the  _best_  at baking,” she confirms. “One time he made homemade dog biscuits and I ate, like, five, before I realized they were supposed to be for the dogs.”

What.

_What._

_Why did she just tell him the dog biscuit story?!_

Pride snort-laughs, and she resists the urge to drop her face into her hands.

It’s a weird experience, making it to the end of the street and reaching the frat house. On the one hand, she’s relieved that she’s probably not going to have any more opportunities to be weird or humiliate herself. On the other hand, despite the recent failings of her various filters, she thinks she’s actually enjoying this.

“Here we go,” she says, gesturing down the drive. For a half second, she deliberates, before she offers Pride a smile. “Mind if I come inside with you? I think the rain’s going to let up soon, so it’d be nice to wait it out.”

“By all means,” Pride agrees.

They knock at the front door.

There’s a bit of a delay, and then Darevas opens it.

Somehow, in the brief window of time since she’s last seen him, he’s managed to lose his shirt, change his pants, and put on a set of well-worn footwraps. He blinks at her.

“Kel? What’s…?”

His question trails off as he sees Pride, then, and his gaze narrows a little.

Kel raises her own eyebrow, at that.

“Your new housemate was having troubles finding the address, so I showed him the way,” she says.

Darevas’ eyes narrow further.

“…Convenient,” he says.

Pride shifts from one foot to the other, and glances at her. Kel offers him a half shrug. Darevas is in a mood, apparently. Maybe this house’s version of hazing is lukewarm greetings? That would… not surprise her, actually, she’s seen the house charter and a part of her deeply suspects that her Uncle Adannar wrote it after an evening devoted entirely to cuddling puppies and watching cheesy Halmark movies.

“I guess you’d better come in,” Darevas says, gesturing to Pride and still staring narrowly as he motions him across the threshold.

“What, just him?” she asks.

“Yup,” her cousin says, and promptly shuts the door on her.

…Huh.

There’s some brief scuffling on the other side, and it opens again.

“-incredibly inconsiderate-“ Pride is saying.

“No girls allowed!” Darevas snaps, and shuts the door again, which. What.  _What?_  That’s never even been a thing! Not even when they were nine and still built clubhouses or anything! She pulls her phone out, as the door struggle seems to continue from the other side, and texts Felasel.

_Ur brother is being a basket of assholes and won’t let me inside,_  she says.

“-not even in the house rules!” she hears Pride snap, as the door opens and then closes again.

_He’s also fighting the new guy. Who I brought safely 2 u. Through the pouring rain, after walking all the way home from the bus stop._

_It’s cold on the stoop, Felasel._

She waits.

It doesn’t take very long.

_I will handle it._

A few minutes later, there’s a  _thud_  on the other end of the door. Then more voices. Then the front door opens, and Felasel gestures her politely inside, past a grumpy-looking Darevas and an insulted-looking Pride.

Pride is the one who offers her the apologetic look.

She just rolls her eyes at her cousin. He doesn’t even have the best excuse to be in a bad mood, his parents haven’t even left town.

Felasel closes the door behind her, and she slides her wet coat off.

“Pride, this is our cousin, Kel. Kel, this is our foster uncle, Pride,” Felasel introduces, gesturing between them.

Kel comes up short.

Pride blinks a few times, and then looks deeply confused.

Oh.

Huh.

…Kinda weird, she supposes.

“How is she your cousin?” Pride finally asks.

“Oh, so you didn’t know?” Darevas returns. “ _Convenient.”_

“Our fathers were fraternity brothers,” Felasel supplies, to Pride, who looks… still confused, but in a different way. He opens his mouth, and then seems to decide the better of whatever comment he was about to make, and then just nods. After an awkward couple of seconds, he extends a hand towards Felasel.

“Thank you for sponsoring me into the fraternity,” he says.

Felasel takes his hand, and nods.

“Don’t mention it,” he agrees. “Now that we’re here, we should go over some ground rules. Kel, this actually is fraternity business, but you’re welcome to watch television in the main room.”

“Thanks,” she says, and resists the urge to sigh in disappointment over not being able to look at a guy who is, apparently, the twins’ hot uncle anymore.

It’s takes her about half a minute for her to get over the weirdness.

By the time she settles into the worn leather sofa, she’s back to pondering the guy’s nose.


	2. Revival Tacos

The first time she sees him, it’s right after the great big spectacular the damn Evanuris family paid her to do. She spent the last thirty minutes dancing en pointe and launching herself into the air on an aerial hoop to the great delight of the crowd. Don’t get her wrong, she loves performing and dancing and the acrobatic tricks, what she doesn’t love is the fact that it was a forced routine done to make the school seem fun and energetic. The choreography is basic, trite, more flashy than actually substantial, but she’s getting paid, so it works out.

She hops off the stage and goes through the motions of getting out of performance ready to post-performance, eager to get food. She’s always hungry after performances, often going without eating anything substantial before performances because of all the turning and flipping and jumping – it unsettles anyone’s stomach. But tacos after a long aerial and ballet performance? Yes, please.

She’s in her post performance hoodie and foot wraps, her feet slowly getting good and fat as she walks through the crowd. Her face is still covered in makeup, slathered on thick to hide the Vallaslin.

The taco stand line is thankfully not very long but it’s long enough to warrant a little bit of competition for the next slot in line. A tall man, clearly a city elf, angles himself quickly into the space before her, almost slamming her down. She bounces back easily though and taps his shoulder.

“Hey! Watch it!” She bites at him. He turns around with a shocked expression that quickly morphs into sheepish apology.

“Oh! I didn’t see you, sorry! Here, you can get in front of me.” He shuffles so that she’s now standing in front of him, making her fourth in line.

She quirks a brow at him. Well, he owned up to it pretty quickly and he even gave her his space.

“Thank you, apology accepted. I guess being that tall makes it difficult to see us down here, no?” She jokes, giving him a small smile. Blue eyes crinkle with a broad smile in return and a blush creeps its way to her cheeks, but her makeup is so thick she doubts it’s actually visible.

“Most of my family is actually smaller but yeah, you get used to looking ahead. I didn’t hurt you or anything, right?” His eyes glance over her form and she resists the urge to pull her hoodie closer to her - he’s looking to see if she’s hurt, not…not other things.

She shakes her head, he’s…a rather earnest fellow, isn’t he?

“No, just mostly startled. It isn’t every day a giant man almost knocks you down.”

“A giant, _handsome_  man?” His smile turns into a ridiculous grin and she rolls her eyes.

“A giant,  _cocky_  man.” She teases. He places a hand over his heart in mock offense, whipping his head back in dramatic effect.

“Oh you wound me!” He mocks falling backward, hand over his heart and she rolls her eyes in respond but finds herself laughing anyways.

“It’s a good thing then we’re near tacos, those are sure to revive you.” She says, immediately blushing again. Tacos. She’s trying to flirt by talking about tacos. Creators, she’s a mess.

But he smiles brightly and nods enthusiastically.

“Yes! Tacos, the greatest of healing dishes.”

“Oh well, you haven’t had my Keeper’s…oh what is the word? Um…big, large animal? Furry? No, um,” she snaps her fingers and tries to recall the word in Common, only coming up with it in elven.

The man cocks his head to the side, “ _Say it in elven?_ ” He suggests in a clipped, formal tone that just  _screams_  Arlathan elf. Oh.

She frowns, bites her lip, “Your elven is not mine, and I am uninterested in your condescension.”

“Aw c’mon, try me, I promise to not be an ass.”

“Oh well, since you _promise_ not to be an ass….” She grins evilly and sidles up to him, “ _Silly, cocky man thinking I’d fall for that!_ ”

“Oh you are  _mean_!” He shoots back, smiling and joking still.

“I never claimed to be nice.” She quips and he chuckles.

“I think you’re very nice.”

Did he just…he…she….

Hm.

She blinks at him and an embarrassing giggle leaves her. She thinks she’s blushing through the makeup by now.

“Ma’am?  _Ma’am_!” The lady in the truck calls and Miriel whips around, when did it suddenly become her turn to order?

“Oh, right, yes, sorry…um…I’ll…take a Spicy Druffalo Taco, a Fiesta Chicken Taco, and an Avocado Chicken taco salad, oh and a basket of chips.” She flashes up the food pass given to her by the school for performing and the lady nods before punching in the order.

“That’s nice of you to grab something for you friends.” The man says and she laughs.

“Oh that’s just for me.”

His eyes widen, “Seriously? Damn. Oh and here,” he hands the lady in the truck a piece of paper.

“It’ll be easier for everyone if I just give you all the orders,” and then he hands over a credit card. The woman’s eyes widen and she purses her lips before seeing the credit card.

“Ah, yes, of course, we will get right on it.” She processes the card then hands it back to him. That’s…odd. But he turns back to her smiling and sticks his hand out.

“I’m Darevas, by the way.” She reaches past his hand and clamps down on his forearm.

“Miriel of Bellenan, Antiva. Andaran’atishan,” she greets. He surprisingly keeps up with her and grips her arm back, bowing his head.

“Aneth’ara. So, you go for spice, interesting.”

“Mm, yes, I enjoy the pain, it enhances the flavor.” She stops again, realizes her words and stumbles back, “I-I mean, no! That isn’t, I mean –

But Darevas just laughs and shrugs, “I get it, no worries. And yeah, totally agree, spicy food is the best. My uncle is obsessed with making the best hot wing sauce ever, my mom says he’s been trying since he was in college.”

“That long? Creators, perfection really is a lost cause isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t say that, your performance earlier was pretty perfect.”

She knows he’s laying it on thick, laying on ‘the moves’ but Creators, she doesn’t really mind it. He hasn’t mocked her, only gently teased, which coming from an Arlathan elf is surprising. By now the city elves would be sniffing derisively at her and her accent. But Darevas is…not doing that. He’s smiling at her, blushing slightly as she leans back and raises a brow at him again.

“That? It was horribly rushed and flashy and really not a good show of what I actually do, but thank you.” She babbles, she knows she’s babbling but she doesn’t really know how to stop it.

Has she mentioned that he is really handsome? All broad shoulders and blue eyes and a very nice pair of ears.

“Oh well in  _that_ case…I still think it was wonderful, you should be proud of yourself.”

Aaaand she’s blushing again, blinking at him and smiling like a fool. So quickly she’s disarmed of her wit! Rana would be so disappointed.

Two other men suddenly walk up to Darevas, one looking remarkably similar to him, but with longer hair, glasses, and a brilliant white streak in his hair. The other has some of the most striking eyes she has ever seen, both are tall and immediately pin their gazes on her.

“Darevas, who is this?” Glasses asks. She raises a brow at him, the corners of her mouth tilting down.

“ _I_  am Miriel of Bellenan, Antiva.”

“Order 73!” One of the taco truck workers hollars.

“And order 73. I’ll see you around, Darevas.” She turns from him and his friends and moves over to the counter, taking her food and heading over to where she knows Cirimeni’s set up their little camp.

She wonders if she will see him around, if she wants to see him around, and comes to the easy and startlingly quick decision that yes, she would like to see him around.


	3. Meeting Kel

Pride has a photograph of the fraternity house he has been accepted into.

It came along with the acceptance letter, and directions to the house. The one which it seems he has found, but, the address doesn’t match, and he’s not entirely certain he followed the directions properly. This segment of the university’s housing district is full of small, twisting streets. Rather like Nevarra, except everything is on the same level, and it is wet and muddy rather than windy and dry.

The rain is sliding down his collar as he double-checks the photo on his phone, and then goes up to the front walk. He rings the bell, and waits. But there’s no answer.

It’s as he’s beginning to give up, then, that he spots them.

Three young women are heading down the sidewalk, potentially aiming right for the address he is at. Two of them are human, and one of them is elven. All three of them are notably lovely, in distinctly different ways. The human women are soft-featured and overall friendly-looking, both sporting different styles of statement jewellery, one in a miniskirt and the other in faded jeans. The one in the miniskirt is sandwiched in the middle of the trio, her arms slung through the other women’s, and the air of camaraderie about all of them is obvious.

Pride’s gaze slide habitually, however, to the elf of the group. A short young woman, with very dark skin, dressed in less adorned clothing than her companions. The sleeves of her jacket are rolled up, despite the weather, to reveal a pair of toned forearms. Her hair is cropped short, and dyed a striking orange, that brings out the flecks of colour in her brown eyes.

She is, as said, very pretty. But Pride barely takes note of it, at first. The task at hand is more pressing, and as the young woman turn down the walkway towards him, he seizes the obvious opportunity.

“Excuse me,” he says. “Perhaps you could help me. I’m looking for my fraternity house. It looks precisely like this house, in the picture I was sent, but I suppose this is not it after all?”

All three women stop. One of the humans answers him, tone friendly.

“No, this is our sorority house,” she says. “The fraternity house you’re looking for has the same front, but it’s on the other end of the street.” 

“Oh,” he says. And for some reason, having the elven woman’s stare turn onto him inspires a brief surge of nervousness, and he licks his lips.

She is looking at him rather intently.

Has he caused offence?

He hopes not.

The more he looks at her, the more he finds himself noticing things about this woman. There is something in her countenance that seems very… compelling.

One of her human companions nudges her forward, and volunteers her to be his guide to his new fraternity house. Playful in a manner that Pride recognizes, and then he finds himself wondering if her staring might not be for another reason altogether.

Oh.

Hmm.

Perhaps he can impress her, he thinks, as she agrees to show him the way. Her gaze lingering just a little bit on his lips. Not overtly; but enough so that he notices. She has a nice mouth, too, in fact. A nice face, overall. Very open and friendly, for all the sharpness in her gaze.

_Be charming,_  he thinks at himself, urgently.

And then his shoes start squeaking, and he kind of wants to die.


	4. Call Me

The second time Miriel sees Darevas, it’s in class.

She’s rooting through her backpack for her pens and a fresh notebook for her Ferelden Government class when the seat next to her shakes, making her bounce in her own seat. She jerks back up, pens and notebook clutched to her chest as she looks at the jostler accusingly.

“Hey!”

“Watch it?” Darevas grins and lifts his eyebrows in greeting. Oh, that’s funny, boy, real funny.

She rolls her eyes, already smiling though, “Perhaps you need to get your eyes checked if you’re having problems with that.” She quips.

“Nah, I’m good, Felasel’s the one with the bad eyes. And hey, I can see your Vallaslin now.” She watches his eyes trace the outlines of the bow on her face and she resists the urge to squirm. People who haven’t had a lot of experience with the Dalish tend to get weird about the Vallaslin.  _Did it hurt? Why would you tattoo your face? Doesn’t that make it harder to find a good job?_ But the worst of the questions come from the Arlathan elves – _they’re_ slave  _markings, why do your people insist on this tradition?_

So she lifts her chin in preemptive defiance, trying to make her small frame appear larger than it actually is.

“And?” She prompts.

He blinks, “And what? It’s nice, it fits your face well.”

She pauses for a moment, watching him. He’s…doing that thing again – not being an expected ass. He really doesn’t mind her Vallaslin, there’s no derisive sneer, no rolling of the eyes. Weird.

“Well, thank you. Your…face is well proportioned for your head.” Ah yes, stellar flirting, Miri, perfect. She blushes and turns away from him, kicking herself.

“Thanks! I’ve always thought so too, and hey where’re you going? You’re cute when you blush, makes the Vallaslin stick out too, it’s cute.”

His words do nothing for the blushing situation  _at all_. But her eyes flick over to his face and see that he’s blushing too. A cross between a giggle and a snort escapes her and she shifts back to him.

“Yes, well…don’t let the compliment go to your head, it’ll throw the proportion off.”

“Oh we can’t have that.”

“Absolutely not, you’re clearly here to look pretty.” She goads playfully.

“You think I’m pretty?” His blush intensifies slightly and he wiggles his eyebrows as she stutters.

“That…that is not what I said!”

“Oh it’s okay, it can be our secret.” He winks at her but before she can even think of a proper response, the professor begins his lecture. It’s syllabus and introduction day, so nothing too substantial and as a result, Darevas gets bored halfway through (at least that’s her guess) and passes her a note.

_Kinda wild running into you again!_

She rolls her eyes and jots a note back in clear blocked script.

_This class is required to graduate, plenty of freshmen take it._

_But so do seniors!_

She shrugs and turns her attention back to the professor.

He passes her another note.

_What I mean to say is that I’m happy I ran into you again._ _J_

She stares at the note for a moment, smiling softly and blushing. Okay, so…he’s not an ass. And he’s cute. And he likes tacos.

_I’m glad too,_ she writes back, earning her a gigantic smile.

He scribbles another note and passes it to her, a string of numbers and many smiley faces and a singular winky face at the end of the numbers, a hastily written  _Call me?_  Written in the corner of the page.

She shrugs, playing like she doesn’t know if she will or not, but she tears off the corner of his paper and tucks it into her own notebook.

The lecture gets out early but she still has a class immediately after it.

“I have to get to Antivan History 1200, but I’ll…I’ll call you later.” Her blush and his grin come back in full force and she can’t help but think of how much shit Rana’s going to give her over this.  _You fell for the first guy you met at college? Oh honey._

“Yeah, that sounds great! Uh, you could always give me your number too, I’m a pretty great texter. Oh do you have a snap chat? I’m an even better snap chatter.”

She sucks in air through her teeth and pulls her flip phone out of her pocket.

“Nope, no snap chat, just call and text. But I’ll call! I’ll definitely call!” She waves bye as she dashes off to her next class that is oh so conveniently on the other side of the campus.

After two more classes, a snack liberated from a vending machine, and a very mediocre dining hall meal later, and Miriel is finally back in her dorm room. Cirimeni already has all of her books open in an attempt to get ahead in her studies while also potting a very nice looking plant.

“Should I call him now? It’s seven…that’s a reasonable time to call right?”

Cirimeni takes out a new paper and scribbles on it, lifting it when she’s done.

_Call him._

“But what if he’s busy? Or with someone? What if he met another girl? A girl who isn’t Dalish?”

Cirimeni alters the sign.

_Call him!_

“But-

_Miriel! Call him!!_

She stares at the sign before sighing and taking out that slip of paper he wrote on earlier and punching in the number into her phone.

Her heart races as she hears the dial tone, then the ringing…ringing…ringing.

“Hello?”

She sits up immediately, “Darevas, hi, it’s Miriel.”

“Oh, hey!”

“I-I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” She bites her lip, her feet twitching nervously.

“Nah, Felasel’s just trying to convince Ileth that it’s perfectly okay to eat cupcakes before dinner.”

“Doesn’t that mean the cupcakes become dinner?”

“That’s a good point! Oh man, Ileth just cast a barrier around the cupcakes – he’s not playing tonight.” There’s a clamor in the background before there’s clicking and rustling.

“There we go, no more of that. So what’s up?”

“Oh nothing much, just…watching my roommate pot plants…” the conversation goes on from there. He makes banter about the plants, talks about how Ileth and Felasel have this…thing going on about baked goods. He’s horrified when she expresses confusion as to what an apple turnover is but she laughs when he doesn’t understand the difference between a pancake a halla milk pancake – which is  _everything_. They talk about food, then he gets hungry and goes in search of actual dinner that isn’t cupcakes. He comments on Felasel bitterly eating his salmon while Ileth gloats over his victory.

“You know,” he says while chewing on his own food, “the frat’s have a party on Saturday, a sort of ‘kick off the year’ sort of thing. Would you, that is, um, would like to come?” He offers, stumbling over his words just a bit in such an endearing way that she can’t help but smile and nod into the phone.

“That sounds fun! I’d love to go.” She twirls a strand of hair around a finger before realizing what she’s doing and stops. None of that, nope. She’s not doing that, this is literally the third time she’s spoken to him, no butterflies or hair twirling or anything for her.

He snort-laughs into the phone.  _Dammit._

“Awesome! Hey, you can bring your roommate too! More the merrier, but specifically merrier with you. Merrier with Miriel. Merriel.”

“Oh aren’t you funny,” she groans.

“I’m hilarious.”

“More like ridiculous.”

“’Sly pretty – just like you said today.”

“And there you go letting it go to your head, ruining that proportion.”

“Well I’m not the one calling me pretty and inflating my ego.”

“Someone’s going to have to deflate that ego of yours before Saturday.”

“True! Hey you wanna come over and deflate my ego?”

“Are you seriously booty-calling me right now?”

“Technically you called, so you would be the one booty-calling me.”

“Darevas! I am a respectable woman!”

“Mm yes, very respectable.”

She scoffs but laughs, “You’re absolutely ridiculous, you know that right?”

“Maaaybe.”

“Uhhu, well ‘maaaybe’, I have to go, it’s late and I have an 8 AM and early morning yoga.”

“Aaww, well, sleep well, dream of me!”

“I’ll dream of whatever I want!” She protests.

“My statement still stands!” He says quickly. Miriel chuckles again.

“Good night, Darevas.”

“Hey, now that I have your number, can I text you?”

She thinks about it for a second, “Sure, just no booty-calls! Or texts!”

“Ah! She’s seen right through me! Oh no!”

“ _Good night_ , Darevas!” She says again.

“Good night, Miriel, sleep well.”

She hangs up and it takes her a good hour to fall asleep, her brain and heart entirely too awake.


	5. How to Get Shot Down by Cassandra

Lela sucks in a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

She can do this.

The hot babe from her History of Thedas class is in the bar across the street. She can absolutely do this, just, go across the street. Maybe offer to… buy her a drink? That’s how it’s supposed to go, right? Buy her a drink, and don’t – don’t screw anything up, just.  _Hi, my name’s Lela. We’re in the same class! I usually sit behind you and stare at your jaw and try not to electrify my phone because I’m an awkward weirdo and gosh you’re pretty._

Maybe… maybe she should edit that script a little, before she lets it out of her mouth.

Oh, fuck, she can’t do this. Normal people date. She has never been normal, she’s going to, like, trip and backhand a server and blow out all the windows. People will be running into the streets, screaming. The police will come. She’ll end up spending the night in a holding cell, just like that first time she decided to try getting drunk.

She turns.

And then she turns back.

No, fuck it, she can’t just spend her whole life not doing things because – because then what’s the point, right? The whole  _point_  is that she wants to do things, now, again, and she should do them. Live a little. Even if she screws it up. Right? She can live with the humiliation, it’ll have plenty of company in her memories.

The crossing sign changes to ‘walk’, and she charges across to the bar before she loses her nerve. Her sneakers scraping over the pavement, as she pulls open the door, and gets hit with a blast of warm air. Oh. She hadn’t realized how cold she’d gotten, again. Probably should have worn a jacket, then. Some of her muscles, unconsciously tensed, relax. The bar is crowded but it’s not an intimidating kind of crowded. No one’s shouting at a sports game or loudly singing Happy Birthday or anything, most people are just happily settled at their seats, having conversations with their friends and whatnot.

There are a few vashoth, here and there. It’s a mixed crowd, which is good. Means she stands out less, as she makes her way over to the bar.

Where  _she_ is sitting.

She’s human. Fit, with middle-dark skin and black hair, a square jaw and just a touch of dark lipstick on her lips. The seat next to her is empty. Lela takes it, and the bartender motions that they’ll just be two seconds. She nods, happy to wait, and threads her fingers together. The stool is just a bit too narrow to be comfortable. She shifts forward, and then realizes she’s hunching, and stops that.

“Hey,” she finally manages.

The woman glances over at her, and blinks.

“I, um. I recognize you. We’re in the same History of Thedas class,” she offers, extending a hand. “My name’s Lela.”

“…Cassandra,” the woman offers. Oh, what a pretty name. Lela smiles, and smiles a bit wider when Cassandra slips her hand into her own, and offers a quick shake.

“Could I buy you a drink, maybe?” she offers. “Or, something to eat…? We could talk about… history…?”

Her heart speeds up, and her face goes hot. Cassandra’s eyes widen a little. She blinks, and then glances further down the bar.

“Are – are you  _hitting_  on me?” she asks.

Lela freezes. What does that tone mean? Is that good surprise or bad surprise? Did she fumble her cues or something, is asking people out supposed to go differently in Ferelden? She shifts on the barstool, and opens her mouth, before closing it again.

And then, of course, it gets away from her.

“Well, yes, I think so. I mean, I meant to. Ask you out. That was sort of why I came in here in the first place. I wanted to try earlier, actually I think I wanted to the first time you spoke up in class and asked about those records that were connected to the official disbandment of the Templar order, because I was thinking the same thing but I was – I’m not good at, um. Speaking. Sometimes. I either I do too much or too little, but you seem good at it. Plus I liked your shirt. I like most of your shirts. Especially the one you were yesterday, with the kitten on it that said ‘Hang in There’, and the kitten was hanging? That was cute.”

Cassandra looks down at the plaid pull-over she’s wearing right now. Her cheeks colour, a little.

“That was one of my sorority sisters’,” she says. “Our laundry machine broke. I had to borrow it. I – I have to go.”

“…Oh,” Lela says.

Cassandra clears her throat.

“I am very flattered, but I have no interest in… women…”

That makes her pause, again.

“… _Really,_  though?” she asks, and then almost immediately regrets it. That’s not fair. She shouldn’t stereotype people. And maybe Cassandra is just trying to let her down gently, and this was the only thing she could think of. The other woman clears her throat, and nods awkwardly, and then beats a hasty retreat from the bar. Lela almost offers to leave instead. After all, there was only the one reason she came in here, and now it’s going, and if Cassandra just wants to enjoy her drink in peace or whatever, that’s fine. She should say that, she thinks. But then the other woman is gone, and she’s just left alone, on an uncomfortable bar, trying not to curse herself out loud.

The bartender finally gets over. Lela supposes it would be rude to just take up space, so she orders a beer. At least she can warm up a little, before she heads back to her dorm. She managed to snag a single, so she won’t be disturbing anyone if she comes in late. Perks of being a walking news story. Her whole scholarship was a publicity stunt, but, well…

It’s not like she was going to pay tuition any other way, right now.

There’s a low whistle. She glances over, and for half a second she thinks that a small, red hedge has somehow wandered into the bar from the parking lot. But then she blinks, and no, it’s a dwarven woman. A dwarven woman with a magnificent mane of hair, climbing onto the stool next to her. Which seems to be just slightly too tall for  _her_  comfort. She’s got a half-finished drink of her own with her, and Lela realizes that means she’s probably come over on purpose. There are stars on her jeans, and a patch over one of her eyes, as she looks up at Lela and offers her a sympathetic smile.

“She shot you down too, huh?” the dwarven woman asks.

Lela shifts a little. Her beer arrives, and she nods, grateful to have something to do with her hands.

“Yeah. Said she wasn’t interested in other women,” she confirms.

“She’s one of my sorority sisters,” the newcomer informs her. “I finally made my move tonight, too, and she told me the same thing. Gonna be awkward in the house now.”

For a moment, silence between them, as they both seem to ponder this.

“It’s just,” Lela says, at length. “That’s a lot of butch plaid for a straight woman.”

“I know, right?!” the dwarf exclaims, making an animated gesture with one arm. “I mean, it’s not like a jawline means anything, and anyone can wear whatever they want, but I just figured she was giving off signals on purpose. She owns like twenty-six plaid shirts, what heterosexual woman owns  _twenty-six_  plaid shirts?!”

“Twenty-seven, I counted,” Lela offers, but her new friend waves her off.

“Nah, she borrows clothes a lot. I’m Maibrit, by the way,” her new friend explains, extending a hand towards her.

“Lela,” she offers, with a smile.

It earns her one back. A big, broad, pretty smile, that stretches clear across Maibrit’s face, and makes her nose wrinkle. Her hand lingers over hers for just a moment. Maibrit’s nails are painted bright red, a little chipped on the edges, but it still shines in the bar’s lights.

“Hey,” Maibrit says, after a moment. “Wanna see a trick?”

She waggles her eyebrows. Lela hesitates, just for a second, but then shrugs.

“Why not?” she agrees.

She feels only a little bit of trepidation as Maibrit reaches up, then, and unstrings the eyepatch she’s wearing. Behind it, instead of a second eye – or a scarred socket, or something – is a ruby. Bright as her nail polish, although it looks dark in the recesses of her skull, where the light can’t hit it. Lela’s brows furrows.

“That looks like a hard and uncomfortable thing to have in your face,” she notes.

“It’s sized to fit,” Maibrit assures her. “I can juggle it.”

Lela blinks, and then shrugs again.

“Cool,” she offers, and wonders if this is normally how these things go, as Maibrit pulls a ruby out of her head and does, in fact, start juggling it. Sending it spiralling up towards the tavern lights, glittering, and Lela thinks the middle of it is glowing with more than the natural beauty of stone as it tumbles back down, to be caught in her new friend’s palm.

“Ta-da!” Maibrit exclaims, after a few minutes of that. She slips the ruby back into her pocket, and slides the eyepatch into place over her empty socket. “Actually it was probably a good thing I did that, I think I’m starting to get a headache. Could use a break.”

Lela winces in sympathy. She gets headaches, too. Those numbing, sinking ones, that feel like cold fire in her skull. Her therapist says they’re entirely psychological, in that way he sometimes has, that makes her feel like everything that’s wrong with her is her own fault.

Her therapist also routinely asks if she’s making things up because of her ‘innate need for attention’.

She’s not a big fan of her therapist. She’d stop going, except it’s court mandated.

“Can I buy you a Tylenol?” she offers Maibrit. “There’s a pharmacy down the street.”

“Would be like spitting in the ocean, if I actually got a migraine,” Maibrit replies, good-naturedly. “But thanks. Maybe you’d let me buy you some pretzels instead? This bar makes good pretzels.”

Lela inclines her head.

Why not?

She came in to ask a gorgeous woman out, after all. And Maibrit might not have been who she had in mind, but she still fits the bill.

“Sure,” she agrees.


	6. Crave

Darevas should not take one, he knows. Those are Felasels sweets, and he has been saving them for….something. Felasel doesn’t  _save_ food unless it is special. But he has been craving cinnamon all week, and the churros are still warm and he can hear them calling out to him…Maybe. Maybe just  _one_ would be ok.

Having three crammed into his mouth is harder to explain, when Felasel returns to the Frat House with his new girlfriend in tow. 

Guilty, with cinnamon sugar still dusting his cheeks and fingers, Darevas offers a placating wave.

 

Felasel huffs and turns to Cirimeni “You remember my brother, Darevas.”

She waves, shoulders squishing up just a bit as though  _she_ were the embarrassed one. 

“Pleasure,” Darevas greets, a few crumbs spilling from his mouth.

 

Felasel shakes his head and hands him a napkin. “ _You_ will be telling Ileth why I need a new batch of churros tonight.”

Darevas nods, as he wipes at his face and hands, gaze drifting back to the plate of already-cooked-churros “Does that mean I can finish these…?”

“Yes, fine,” Felasel snaps “Just-just go get Ileth. Please.”

Darevas hms to himself as he hops towards Ileths rooms. Felasel must really be trying to impress this girl. He didn’t even get  _threatened_ for eating Felasels sweets.

She needs to come by more often, he decides.


	7. Virevas Hates Ferelden

Virevas hates Ferelden.

It’s ugly, and dumb, and there are more dogs than people, and more humans than elves, and there’s mud and the air makes her hair even weirder and she  _hates_  it. She doesn’t know why anyone would want to  _stay_  in Ferelden. Especially not when they could just go back to Arlathan and go to university there, like, just because their parents graduated from a school doesn’t mean it’s the only school worth going to in the whole world, or something.

It’s stupid, is what it is. It’s stupid, and if Kel and Ileth and the twins and Isabela and Olwyn want to be stupid and go to school in a mud pit full of dogs, well,  _fine._  It’s not like Virevas is going to miss them or anything.

She’s just mad because it’s making Papae cry.

He breaks out into tears again once they get home. Just walks in the door to the big house, and looks around, and starts crying. Nanae tells him he can go lie down if he wants, but when he’s calmed down he takes Eda to the garden instead to check on the birds. He asks Virevas if she wants to come, too, but she says no. Screecher’s probably just going to do that whole ‘papae’s home’ greeting thing, and she doesn’t feel like getting bird seed between her fingernails or being coerced into pulling up weeds again or something.

Nanae says they’re going to get started on dinner. Virevas puts her bag into her room, and then goes and sits at the big kitchen bar. Dropping her chin into her hands, and staring out of the windows.

Arlathan’s pretty.

Not like stupid Denerim.

It would have been dumb to stay in Ferelden with Kel, she thinks. If anyone had asked if she wanted to, that’s definitely what she would have said. It’s not like they could have just gotten a place in the city there and spent however long university lasted for living in a mud pit. No way.

But Kel’s… weird, sometimes. She doesn’t really like pretty stuff. Or, no, that’s not right. She doesn’t like the same  _kind_  of pretty stuff. What if she likes Ferelden better? She’s always talking about problems in the city. What if it’s different, in another country? What if there are less of the problems that make Kel mad, sometimes?

Virevas frowns, and presses smudge marks into the polished surface of the bar, and listens to Nanae chopping vegetables.

After a few minutes, though, the sound stops. A shadow moves in front of her, and Nanae’s elbows appear in her line of sight.

She looks up, and finds them looking back at her. There’s a reassuring expression on their face.

“She’s not going to forget about us, baby bee,” they tell her.

Virevas frowns.

“I know that,” she insists. It’s not like Kel’s got memory troubles or something, so  _obviously_. But some of her resolve falters when they reach over and brush a hand through her hair. Scowling, she slides off of her stool, and then goes around the bar, and wraps her arms around Nanae’s waist. They probably need a hug, after all. They cry less than Papae does but that doesn’t mean they’re immune to needing hugs, and if Kel’s gone,  _someone_  is going to have to make up the difference.

Nanae wraps their arms around her, and hums a little.

“Maybe we should go out,” they suggest. “We can go see a movie, if you want? Just the two of us. Papae and Eda can have some time, and you and I can. What do you say? It’s been a while since I got to spoil you any.”

Virevas swallows, and thinks about it.

“Can we go see Ghostbusters?” she asks.

Nanae drops a kiss onto the top of her head.

“We can go see Ghostbusters,” they agree. “I’ll put the dinner stuff away and we’ll have it tomorrow instead. Do you want to pick out something fun to wear?”

She does, she decides. She nods, and Nanae gives her another kiss and then shoos her off. She goes to her room, and shucks off the clothes she’d worn for travelling – there wasn’t any metal allowed through the airport metal detector, so she’d had to wear her plastic bracelets, and her shirt smells like the plane. She’s already sick of wearing most of the stuff she packed, so she goes to her closet. She wants her green pants, she thinks. The shimmery ones, with the deep pockets. It takes her a few minutes to find them hanging with one of her blouses, but she doesn’t want the blouse, that one has an itchy collar. She pulls on the pants, and searches through her shirts, but nothing seems right. She’s got a necklace that she ‘borrowed’ from Isabela, and some bracelets that Olwyn said she could have before she left, and they go with each other but they don’t really go with any of her tops.

After a few more minutes, she huffs, and heads into Kel’s room.

It looks weirdly empty.

A bunch of her stuff is gone, of course. But not all of it. Just enough to make it seem like she might come back at any minute, except she isn’t going to. She’s going to go to school in Ferelden and maybe get a job in Ferelden. Maybe meet someone and get married in Ferelden. Virevas wrinkles her nose at the thought, and frowns, and then pulls her gaze away from the empty nightstand and dresser and heads determinedly for the closet. She  _knows_  her sister left a bunch of good stuff behind. Papae keeps talking about sending care packages to make sure she doesn’t starve or ‘die of exposure’, because Nanae let her ‘get away with packing like she was going off to war’.

The closet door slides open at a touch, revealing hangars still full of clean clothes, and a pair of boxes on the closet floor.

Virevas doesn’t really make much note of them – boxes in closets aren’t weird – until she’s in the midst of shifting some of the hangars around, looking for something that might fit her. Then she sees her name out of the corner of her eye, and stops.

Her name is on one of the boxes.

_For Virevas,_  it says, written in Kel’s clear, blocky print. She looks over at the other box, moving aside a few more hangars to see the top.

_For Eda,_  it says. And then, underneath and in brackets –  _(Not for Virevas.)_

She makes a face. Big sisters are impossible. It’s not like she takes stuff from Eda.

…Well.

It’s not like she doesn’t give it back afterwards, anyway. Which is almost the same thing.

Eda doesn’t mind, anyway.

After taking a few minutes to be offended, Virevas closes her hands around the top of one of the boxes, and drags it out of the closet. And then she drags the other one out, too, for good measure. They’re both taped shut, but not with the heavy packing tape that needs to be cut. Virevas turns to the box with her name on it, and manages to get it open just by pulling hard enough on one of the top flaps.

There’s a piece of paper on top.

_Dear Vas,_

_If you’re reading this, then I’ve probably gone off to university now. I know you’re probably mad at me, so I figured a box full of tributes might be a good idea. I asked around and the others agreed that your wrath is kind of like a dragon’s and should probably be appeased with shiny things, and so we all got together and picked some stuff out. Papae and Nanae don’t know. It’s a secret treasure stash, just for you!_

_I hope you like it._

_Lots of love,_

_Kel._

Virevas snorts. What, does Kel think she’s still five, and needs dumb make-believe stories in order to be happy about anything?

Ridiculous.

She ducks her head out into the hallway, and makes sure the coast is clear before she starts dragging the box into her room. Papae’s probably going to mope in Kel’s from time to time, so if this haul is going to  _stay_  secret, it needs to be secured. Probably under her bed, she thinks. The house’s cleaning staff know not to go poking around under there.

She should probably open up Eda’s box, too. Just for safety. But after a few seconds of picking at the tape, the bracketed sentence continues to stare accusingly at her; and so she sighs and just drags the box into Eda’s room for her, instead. Like it’s a  _normal_  gift, and not a mysterious closet present. That should take some suspicion off of her possibly having a mysterious closet present, in turn.

Not that she cares, of course.

She goes back to her own room, then, and after a minute, drags the box around to a corner that’s not visible from the door. Over  by the dresser. Then she crouches down, and starts going through the contents.

There’s…

There’s actually a  _lot_  of stuff.

Hair clips and bracelets and bangles, clip-on earrings, and a pretty pair of shoes, and clothes. Lots of clothes. Shiny, shimmering clothes, in vibrant jewel tones, and no way did  _Kel_  pick most of this stuff out. This is good stuff. She must have had Olwyn helping, at the very least, because Olwyn knows the difference between ‘pretty shiny’ and ‘tacky shiny’, and there’s a dark blue shimmery vest that makes Virevas think of Felasel’s eye for things, and some pastel stuff that was probably Ileth’s idea. The jewellery is chunky and big and probably not too expensive, but it’s all got  _weight_  to it so it isn’t plastic, either.

Virevas  _hates_  plastic jewellery. It breaks and it’s too light and it doesn’t  _feel_  valuable.

She goes through it all until she hears steps down the hallway, and then she fishes up a shiny green tunic that goes nicely with her pants, and slides the rest of the box out of sight. She can stash it properly after the movie, she thinks. She pulls on the tunic, and her borrowed necklace and bracelets, and is almost at the door by the time she hears Nanae’s knock.

She pulls it open.

“Ready to go?” they ask. They probably don’t even realize she’s wearing a new shirt, she thinks. Papae might notice, but then again, grown-ups tend to lose track of stuff. She could just say that she’s always had it, and they’d be none the wiser.

Though she could probably also just say that Kel gave it to her. And that would probably be the grown-up thing to do, and it’s not like she gets an actual kick out of having a secret treasure stash. Because that’s silly, and she’s definitely outgrown that stuff. But  _Kel_  would probably be happier knowing that Virevas had played along.

Even if she’s still mad about her going away to Ferelden.

Because Ferelden is stupid.

Nanae smiles at her a little.

“I need to pick out shoes,” she decides.

“Want help?” they ask.

“No,” she says. “I’m just going to wear the white ones.” There are pearls in her necklace. It matches, she thinks, and when she pulls the pair she wants out of the hall closet, she likes the overall look she’s achieved. Her new shirt already smells like the little ‘stay fresh’ sachels that Aunt Ana makes – probably because Kel put one in the box – and that adds to the illusion, she thinks. Nobody except for her and some people in a whole other country would have any reason to guess that it’s new.

Nanae makes them go out the garden way so that they can tell Papae and Eda where they’re going. While Nanae’s busy talking to Papae, Virevas heads over to the little ornamental duck pond, and gets Eda’s attention by patting her elbow.

“There’s a box of stuff for you in your room,” she says. “Kel left it.”

Eda’s eyes widen a little, and then she nods.

“Are you okay staying with Papae?” Virevas asks. She likes the idea of having Nanae all to herself for a bit, but movies are a lot of fun, and if Eda wants to go then maybe they all should. Even if it makes Kel’s absence harder to ignore. It’s not like she’s  _dead,_  she’s just  _away._

Do they even have movies in Ferelden?

They must. People would probably riot otherwise.

Eda just nods at her, though, and then gestures pointedly back at the ducks. She’s got stuff to do. Animal stuff. Virevas likes animals just fine, but she doesn’t go crazy over them, unlike  _some_  people. She wrinkles her nose a bit, and nods in understanding. Screecher is busily trying to mess up Papae’s hair, but as Nanae calls her over, it takes the time to make a shrill ‘hello’ whistle at her, before going back to work.

Papae brushes a hand over her hair, in turn, unconsciously mimicking his bird as he pushes a lock of it behind one of her ears.

“Have a nice time,” he says. “We’ll call Kel when you get back, before you go to bed. Then we can all say goodnight.”

Virevas shrugs.

“If you want,” she allows. Papae tuts at her attitude a little, but doesn’t really say anything. Nanae takes her hand as they leave the garden, because some of the path stones are uneven, and even though Virevas has very good balance it would be a shame if she slipped and messed up her nice outfit. And if they keep holding hands all the way to the car, well, it’s not like anyone  _sees._

It’s a little too early for the movie, but there’s not enough time to have dinner beforehand, so Nanae lets her play in the arcade by the theater for a while and pick out lots of snacks, since they’ll be eating late. Nanae lets her get a jumbo size popcorn and put whatever she wants on it, so she gets extra butter and then covers it all in spicy powder, and gets an extra large drink, too. They get good seats and put on their 3D glasses, and for a little while Virevas actually forgets that there’s a world that exists beyond hunting down vengeful dwarven ghosts.

There aren’t even that many people in the theater, so she doesn’t have to worry too much about crinkling her packet of candies when she opens it, or bouncing in her seat when she gets excited.

And then afterwards they go to her favourite restaurant. Their server compliments Virevas’ necklace, and Nanae lets her have their after dinner mint, and talks with her about the movie and about school supplies and her on-going campaign to get a new iphone. Like, a proper one, and not one that Nanae has messed with.

“Kel didn’t get a grown-up phone until she was fourteen,” they tell her.

Virevas frowns.

“I bet she didn’t even  _want_  one until she was fourteen,” she argues.

“Touché,” Nanae concedes. “I’ll talk to Papae about it.”

She lets out a gusty sigh.

“Nooo,” she protests. “Papae will say I shouldn’t have one until I’m eighteen. Or maybe thirty. He thinks I’m still a baby!”

“He knows exactly how old you are, baby bee,” Nanae says, and their lips twitch. She doesn’t understand their sense of humour the least little bit. What’s so funny about Papae treating her like she’s  _two?_  It’s frustrating is what it is.

“Don’t call me a baby,” she grumbles. Why did her parents wait so  _long_  to have her, anyway? They should have had her first. Then she could be going to university – in  _Arlathan_  – and then everyone would know it was a good idea and no one would be shipping off to Ferelden for school. She stabs at one of her chicken fingers, and Nanae watches her for a minute, in that way that they do, like they’re reading their mind or something. Even though they can’t, actually.

Sometimes she’s not so sure that’s true. But apparently most kids feel that way about at least one parent, and sometimes Papae seems a little bit psychic, too. And Papae’s not even a mage.

“I think,” Nanae says, at length. “That a very grown-up thing to do, that would be very mature, might be to send Isabela back her necklace.”

Virevas freezes, accidentally scraping some of the breading off of her chicken finger, and then glances up at Nanae. Who is drinking their drink, now, and doesn’t seem angry. But then again it’s very, very rare for Nanae to seem angry. Usually she still gets grounded if she’s done something bad and they’ve caught her, because it’s ‘not about being mad’. Which might be true, but even so. Virevas doesn’t like getting in trouble.

She likes doing stuff she shouldn’t, maybe, but she definitely doesn’t like the  _consequences._

“If I send the necklace back, can I have a grown-up phone?” she tries. “Without child blocks?”

Nanae gives her a Look.

“…If I send it back, can I not be in trouble?” she amends.

“If you write an apology note to go with it, then I think we can overlook it this time,” Uthvir agrees. “And, if you want something to remind you of Isabela, I’m sure we can work something else out. Maybe there’s an item Isabela would  _willingly_  part with, rather than having you sneak it out of her jewellery box.”

Virevas makes a face. A note? So she has to admit she took it and say sorry for it? Ugh.

“I didn’t take it to remember Isabela,” she mutters, though. Writing a letter is still probably better than being grounded. Nanae doesn’t look convinced about her statement, either, but it’s  _true._  So what if she has Isabela’s necklace and the bracelets that Olwyn gave her and maybe some other things from the twins and Ileth and Kel? She likes  _stuff._  Everyone likes stuff. Especially pretty stuff.

She’s  _much_  too tough to go in for being all mushy like Papae is.

Kel’s not mushy. Kel doesn’t even care, she thinks. She probably wouldn’t have gone to Ferelden if she did. How could she? She’s going to miss so much stuff, she’s going to be away for Virevas’ birthday, and Eda’s, and for Feast Day and Wintersend. Her and Isabela and everyone else, too. She glares down at her plate, thinking about it. Obviously, they don’t care. They didn’t  _have_  to go so far away…

She dips her chicken into the sauce, and her vision blurs.

A sniff escapes her.

Nanae pushes some napkins towards her, and makes a soothing sound.

She feels a rush of horror as she realizes she’s crying in a restaurant. For half a second she’s worried someone’s going to make a fuss, but Nanae doesn’t come around to her side of the booth, or ask if there’s something wrong with her food, or even do much of anything apart from giving her a minute and then gently asking if she wants to go.

She doesn’t want their server to see, though, so she shakes her head, and they let her wait until the tears stop running down her cheeks before waving someone over so they can pay the bill. They tuck her up against their side, though, under their arm as they walk to the car, and she balls a fist in their jacket and tries to swallow past her thick throat.

“No one saw,” Nanae tells her, as they buckle her in. Virevas feels a little bit better.

“Don’t tell Papae,” she asks.

“I won’t tell Papae,” they promise. “But it’s okay to cry about it, you know. Around me or Papae or anyone, really. We’ve all been doing our fair share of it. I’m sure there will be more tears to come.”

Virevas sniffs, and glares down at her hands.

“ _You_  don’t cry in public,” she says.  _“Kel_  never cries in public.”

Nanae raises an eyebrow at her.

“Kel bawled her eyes out not too long ago when you two went to see that movie about the old man with the balloon house,” they point out.

Oh.

Yeah.

“And I’m just patient enough to keep my crying at home,” they add. Virevas sniffs again, and then lets out a long breath. They pat her cheek, and brush away some of the damp lingering around her eyes. Waiting until she’s calmed down some more, before they give her a kiss and then go get in the driver’s side.

Virevas is quiet as the car starts, and they begin to head home. Now that she doesn’t feel like crying anymore, she really regrets not finishing her dinner. Not that she’s actually hungry, really, but it was nice to go out and she likes that restaurant and that food and sometimes when she kicks up a stir and doesn’t finish her food then she gets in trouble. She isn’t actually sure if she’s in trouble tonight or not, now. Not for crying, probably, and not for not finishing her food – she  _did_  eat most of it, really – but for the necklace, maybe? Or something else?

It  _feels_  like she should be in trouble, anyway.

Nanae reaches over and pats her shoulder.

“You’re okay,” they tell her. “It’s all okay.”

“No it’s not,” she snaps, folding her arms as everything turns hot and angry all at once. “Everyone’s supposed to look out for everybody, that’s what we always say, but how can anyone do anything when they’ve all gone to live in Ferelden? We should have stopped them from going. I don’t get why anyone’s happy about it. What’s so great about that school? There are a lot of schools! I don’t  _want_  Kel to live nine million miles away, it’s stupid idea but nobody seems to think it’s a stupid idea, everyone’s acting like it’s normal but it’s not normal for half your family to just  _leave!”_

Her voice breaks, and she has to cover her face as she starts crying again. Her chest heaving as she sucks in a shuddering breath, and swipes angrily at her tears. She doesn’t want to be crying. When she cries everyone treats her like a baby and nobody takes babies seriously. Nobody listens to them.

Nanae pulls the car over about a block away from their house, and fishes out more tissues for her.

When she finishes crying –  _again_  – they help her put the used tissues in a little garbage baggie.

“You know,” they say, thoughtfully. “I was a lot older than you when Bibi Glory and Aunt Desire went to university. It was very different for me. I almost didn’t go to the same one, but Bibi Glory was worried about what would happen to me if I didn’t have anyone watching my back, so in the end, I did. When they left, I missed them, but… the year it took me to catch up to them, I had some space to kind of start figuring out who I was and what I wanted when I wasn’t comparing myself to them.”

Virevas blinks, and looks over at them.

“You don’t compare yourself to Bibi Glory,” she says. She knows it because she remembers overhearing them tell Papae that, while he was fussing over their wings. It’s one of those weird memories from when she was very, very little, that’s stuck in her head for reasons she’s not sure of. Like the memory of being in her little walker-cart thing, with the tray in front, watching Ileth break up a giant cookie into smaller pieces for her. Or the memory of Papae showing her how to offer treats to Screecher, careful of her fingers.

Nanae shakes their head.

“Not anymore,” they agree. “But when I was younger, that was pretty much  _all_  I did. It was all anyone seemed to do. I felt like I was the downgraded version of Glory, like anyone who spent time with me was settling for the next best thing to them. It made it hard when they were around, but it also made it hard when they weren’t, because in some ways I didn’t know who I was when I wasn’t comparing myself to them.”

Virevas blinks. Once. Twice. She doesn’t even know what to make of that concept. It seems… weird. Bibi Glory is very lovely and Virevas likes them a lot, even if they’re more distant than some of her other aunts and uncles. They give good presents and sometimes they take her to theme parks, and Aunt Squish is definitely in the top ten huggers out there. Like, total. But Nanae is – well, they’re  _Nanae._  There’s no reason to compare them, they’re not the same.

When she says as much, Nanae smiles.

“I wasn’t born knowing that,” they tell her. “I had to learn it. It’s hard when people go away. I would prefer it if your sister wasn’t in another country too, but I’m glad she’s going to this school. It was the one school which we could get all of your cousins into as well. Because she’s going to this school,  _she_  isn’t alone. None of them are. They get to go and be with each other, and look after each other, and that’s why they all went away. Because it’s safer for them to do this together, in Ferelden, than for them all to do it separately, in Arlathan and Orlais and Rivain or wherever any one of them might end up. It might be easier for  _us_  if only one or two of them decided to go someplace else, but think of how it would feel if Ileth was going to school in Val Royeaux and there was no one he knew going with him. Or if Isabela was in Ferelden, but no one else was with her.”

Virevas sucks in a breath, and lets it out again.

Oh.

She… hadn’t thought of it like that.

“But why couldn’t they all go to school  _here?”_  she insists, fidgeting just a little. That explanation makes her feel a little bit better, but it also isn’t liable to convince everyone to bring the older kids home.

Nanae is quiet for a moment. Their fingers drum against the steering wheel a little, as they glance out towards the street lights. She waits, because that look on their face is usually one the precedes them telling something that Papae would probably interrupt them over. If he was here.

“Some of your cousins are mages. And some aren’t,” they say, at last. “When Kel and your cousins were little, it took us all a long time to find schools that were good enough for everyone. Some schools were good for mages, but didn’t offer classes for anyone who wasn’t a mage. Some schools were supposed to be equal-opportunity, but then they would treat their mage students as if their magic was a problem. Papae, and Kel, and Eda, they don’t have magic. In Arlathan, that means that most of the jobs they can find will pay them less. A lot of universities won’t let them take courses for the jobs they want. Most managerial positions or administrative openings won’t consider them, unless they have good connections. But on the other side of that, many places outside of Tevinter won’t even hire mages. Ferelden is more progressive than Orlais that way, but it’s still hard to be a mage in any place that’s not Tevinter, and here, the reverse is true.”

They sigh, and Virevas feels something unpleasant knot in her chest. She doesn’t like it, this subject. She’s not too little to understand it, of course, she knows that lots of people don’t like mages, and that lots of mages think people without magic are less important. But talking about it always makes her feel afraid, like the world isn’t so safe, like moving just one step in the wrong direction could make everything fall apart.

Nanae brushes a hand over her head.

“I wish I could tell you the world was a safe place, Virevas. But it’s still a work in progress, full of many dangers and a lot of foolishness.”

“I know,” she says. Eda’s parents died, after all, and Eda got badly hurt, and her sister is a good person who doesn’t deserve those sorts of things. Virevas knows that bad things happen to good people. It’s not fair. But it’s still true.

And as her nanae explains, she understands, then. It’s because the world is a dangerous place, that her sister and cousins had to go so far.

“The Ferelden school is the safest?” she guesses.

“Overall, yes,” Nanae confirms. “Your Uncle Dirthamen has a good deal of sway with it, and all of us have connections there.  It’s a good place to get a sense for the dangers of the world without running straight into the worst of them. And your sister knows how to look after herself, and how to look after other people, too. You don’t have to worry. But you shouldn’t think that any of them left because they don’t care about us anymore. They left because when you reach a certain age, you want to find out who you are, just on your own. And sometimes that means going somewhere that’s different from the place you grew up in. Not because it’s bad and you hate it, but because it’s all you’ve known so far, and you need to experience something different.”

Virevas goes quiet, as Nanae’s explanation peters off. They watch her for a moment, and then reach over and start the car again. By the time they get home, it’s raining a little bit. The automatic light in the driveway comes on, as Nanae opens up the garage to put the car away.

She listens to the rumble of the door.

“I hope they stay safe,” she says, at last. Swallowing and swiping a hand over her cheeks, making sure they’re dry.

“Me too,” Nanae agrees. “But even if something happens, we’ll still be there for them. That’s why elves invented planes.”

She nods in understanding, and they get out and go back inside of the house together. Papae is waiting for them, of course. He asks if they had a nice time, and sweeps Virevas up for a hug, and she doesn’t know  _how_  he knows she’s upset because she’s sure she’s not letting it show, but he hugs her like he can just tell. Or maybe  _he’s_  still upset, she thinks.

She squeezes him back really tightly. Just in case.

“Let’s call Kel,” he decides. “Before it gets too close to bed time.”

Virevas nods, and Nanae goes and fetches Eda from her room. Papae sets up his laptop, and it doesn’t take very long at all before she sees her sister’s face.

Kel’s new room is… small.

Unless that’s only part of it?

It’s probably just part of it, Virevas decides. That’s like… an auxiliary closet. It has to be. Who could survive with a closet that just has  _one_  door?

She lets Papae do most of the talking, and Eda types into the chat box every now and again, until Kel compliments Virevas’ shirt and then Virevas remembers the box, and she has to resist rolling her eyes because her stupid big sister is going to give her own dumb game away if she keeps  _pointing stuff out!_

Luckily no one suddenly asks where she got it, or mentions that they haven’t seen it before.

“Did you find a  _signif_  yet?” she wonders, pointedly changing the subject and folding her arms.

“Nope,” Kel assures her, unabashed. “But to be fair, I haven’t been looking.”

“Good,” Papae says. “You just focus on your studies and having a nice time with your friends. Don’t go to any parties without someone you trust…”

Aaaand he’s off. Virevas doesn’t bother to avoid rolling her eyes again, though she’s maybe feeling a bit more sympathetic than usual to Papae’s safety diatribe. After all, she supposes. Kel  _is_  really far away. If someone picked a fight with her she could probably beat them up, but still. She’s short, and Uncle Victory says that he’s been the same height since college, so presumably there are giant, strong people who can kill guys with their bare hands at university. Maybe they might give her sister some trouble, if they’re not friendly. She doesn’t have magic, after all.

Virevas frowns, and shifts a little, and glances at Nanae. They look back, and offer her a reassuring smile.

Right.

Safe school. That’s why she’s there.

“Don’t do anything dumb,” Virevas adds, once Papae’s finished his list, and Kel looks like her eyes are starting to glaze over.

Her sister snorts at her.

“I’ll try and resist the urge,” she replies.

“Okay  but you do a lot of dumb stuff,” Virevas points out. “Maybe ask someone else if it’s dumb or not before you do something.”

Kel smacks a hand to her chest.

“My own sister, doubting my good sense,” she protests.

“You can phone and ask me if you need to. Or Nanae, maybe.”

“Not Eda? Papae?” Kel wonders.

Virevas pauses, aware of the listening ears in the room. But then she folds her arms, unrepentant.

“Eda climbs  _fences_  to pet  _animals,_  and Papae can be silly. They’re still better at common sense than you are, though,” she insists. Eda and Nanae look amused. Papae’s got that look on his face that he always gets whenever she’s less than perfectly sweet to her sister, and she feels a pang of guilt, before she lets it out with a sigh. Papae was an only child, and, of course, he’s sensitive.

“Virevas,” he scolds.

Kel just laughs, though.

“Well, luckily I’ve got Olwyn and Isabela in my hall, and Maibrit just downstairs. Lots of consultants,” she reasons.

Virevas wrinkles her nose.

“Maybe be careful asking them. They’re almost as bad as you,” she notes.  _Especially_  Olwyn. Olwyn and Kel are nearly the same kind of dumb, like, they’d probably get jammed together in a doorway trying to run into a burning building to save a grouchy old cat that didn’t even like them. They mean well, of course, and Olwyn’s got much better taste at least, but still. It’s a hazard.

“I’ll tell them you send your love,” Kel replies, still grinning, and then Papae takes over the conversation to scold her for being rude.

He crumbles when she makes big eyes at him, though.

By the time Virevas goes to bed, it’s easier to forget that her sister is in another country. They just talked, after all. It was even a normal conversation, and Kel didn’t act weird, didn’t act like she’d suddenly become a different person overnight. If she doesn’t look in her sister’s room, she can easily pretend that Kel’s studying with the door shut, and even though she obviously doesn’t  _need_  to pretend that, it makes everything seem less… different.

Papae tucks her in, and hums at her. A tune that makes her feel small, but also makes her feel safe. She drifts off to sleep while he’s still brushing her hair back from her forehead.

When she wakes up again it’s still dark, though. Her covers are warm and her room is quiet, and she has to pee like nobody’s business.

With a long sigh, she pushes back her covers, and pads her way over to the bedroom door. Pulling it open and slipping across the hall to relieve herself. The nightlight just by the bathroom door casts soft, butterfly-shaped lights across the floor. Habitually, she steps on them on her way in, and then again on her way out.

She’s almost back to her room when a sound catches her attention.

It’s the slide of a window opening.

Her heart speeds up, and her first thought is  _burglars._  But burglars aren’t supposed to get past all the house’s security systems. A second later, she realizes that the sound came from Eda’s room. Which is closer than Nanae and Papae’s. It takes her a half second more to deliberate, before she heads towards her sister’s door, and pushes it open. If she sees a burglar, she thinks, she’ll scream. That will get the whole house up.

But when she sees it’s just Eda, perched over by her window, she lets out a relieved breath.

“What are you doing?” she asks, in a whisper.

Eda glances back at her, but rather than moving away from her window, she motions her forward. Virevas frowns, and makes her way across the room. The box from Kel is open, settled in one corner of it. She’s itchingly curious about it, now, but she’s  _more_  curious about what Eda is doing at the window in the middle of the night. Perched on her desk chair, and staring out into the darkness. Virevas has to climb onto the desk itself to see out the window.

“Something’s in the garden,” Eda murmurs, quietly.

It’s probably just the dark and the night and the way her voice is still so rare, and quiet, but it makes all the hairs on Virevas’ neck stand up.

“A burglar?” she wonders.

“Cat,” Eda corrects, and then points.

Virevas stares, and her skin tingles as she suddenly sees what her sister means. There, in the garden, perched in one of the big trees, is a leopard. It’s almost invisible, Virevas realizes. The only thing giving it away is how a little bit of light is reflecting in its eyes. And when she sees the eyes, then she can sort of reason the outline of it in the shadows as well.

It’s staring back at them.

Her heart beats faster, and Eda seems entranced, but Virevas is suddenly worried that Screecher isn’t shrieking and the ducks aren’t quacking and nothing seems to be making any  _noise_  about the big awful predator that’s suddenly  _right there._

The world is full of dangerous things.

She almost screams, but then an arm closes around her. A touch so familiar she turns into it without even thinking twice, as Nanae comes up behind them. They pat her back, and gently pry Eda away from the window a bit, and then slide it closed.

“It’s alright,” they say. “The wards on the garden will keep it from getting into any of the hutches or nests. It probably just stopped by for a drink of water.”

Eda makes a gesture that Virevas doesn’t catch, as she wars between clutching Nanae tighter, or turning to look back out the window again.

“Very beautiful,” Nanae says in agreement, though. “But don’t open the window. Just look through the glass. It might try to get in otherwise, and that would hurt it.”

The room is still dark, except for the moonlight and the gleam from the safety lights at the garden gate. But Nanae rubs her back a few more times, and Virevas feels increasingly sure that she’s safe inside, and she’s much more used to seeing scary things from the other side of some glass. She looks up from their shoulder, and stares into the garden again. It takes her a while to find the cat once more, even though it’s in the same place.

Seeing it makes all her hairs stand on end anew, though.

“Why’s it staring at us?” she wonders.

“Because we are very, very dangerous to it,” Nanae tells her, and that… is not the answer she was expecting.

Eda nods, though, and makes a gesture for a spell, and then a gesture for a gun.

_People most dangerous,_  she signs.

Virevas thinks about her magic lessons, and it dawns on her that probably… probably if the cat  _did_  attack, she could kill it. She could light it on fire. She could throw ice shards into its face. She could do any number of things, and she’s just a kid, still. Nanae could probably kill it without breaking a sweat. The cat probably doesn’t even know who’s a mage and who isn’t until they’re casting spells. Maybe it doesn’t even know that there are elves who can’t do magic. It’s not like it can learn about it on television, or something.

“Where’d it come from?” she wonders. It’s sitting so still.

“The reserve, I imagine. It probably got lost looking for food or water,” Nanae reasons. “I have to go get my phone so I can call animal control. They can make sure it gets safely away. Will you both be alright for a minute?”

Eda nods in confirmation.

Virevas feels inspired, though, and rather than answering, she finishes climbing back down from the desk and scampers off to her own room. She gets her dumb baby phone from its charging station, and then rushes back into Eda’s room, and turns on the camera. A frown steals across her features as she realizes that it’s too dark, though. The camera can’t pick up anything except the littlest bit of reflecting light from the cat’s eyes.

Eda glances at what she’s doing, and then taps her shoulder and points over towards her desk. Virevas remembers, then, the fancy digital camera that Papae got Eda for her birthday last year. So she could take pictures of owls. She goes and gets it, and hands it to over when Eda motions for it, glancing back towards the leopard. Which doesn’t really move much, as Eda messes around with the settings until she makes a tiny sound of triumph, and then starts carefully taking pictures.

She lets Virevas take a few, too. The glass is a little in the way, but Nanae said not to open the window again, so they don’t. The leopard’s still enough to pass for a statue, but it doesn’t look relaxed. It moves just a little, hunkering down lower onto its branch at one point, and Virevas supposes they aren’t  _great_  photos but they’ll be good enough to show Varawell and Asarla and Lasair and Tonlen and Rissa, at least. And maybe send to everyone off in Ferelden, too.

_You guys leave and suddenly we’re beset by jungle cats,_  Virevas thinks.

Nanae’s voice drifts up from the hall, as they talk to someone about the leopard in the backyard. And then she hears Papae’s voice, worried; and the phone conversation pauses as Nanae says something reassuring, and a minute later she has to move because Papae’s here and he wants to see the leopard, now.

He doesn’t seem to like it any more than she did, at first. She squeaks as he presses her tight to his chest. Eda manages to evade his attempts at capturing her.

“Come away from the window!” he insists. “It’s dangerous.”

Eda gestures to the closed latch, but Papae’s not having any of it, and eventually she caves and climbs down. He hustles them both out of the room, then, promising them warm milk to settle their nerves, but Nanae’s still calm so Virevas isn’t worried. She objects when Papae tells them both to go sleep in Kel’s room, though, which isn’t on the garden side of the house.

“You’ll have nightmares about it,” he tells them.

Eda looks skeptical of this claim.

Virevas rolls her eyes over her milk.

“Stop  _fussing,_  Papae,” she says. “We’re fine. It wasn’t even doing anything.” She can hardly believe she was scared of it at all, in fact, but Papae is fretting and worried and keeps glancing at the garden like it’s suddenly grown teeth. Nanae comes into the kitchen, then, dressed like they mean to go outside, and Papae looks at them like they’ve suddenly lost their mind.

“What are you doing?” he asks, shrilly. “You can’t go out, there are  _wild beasts_  in the garden!”

“Relax,” Nanae urges, raising a placating hand. “The people from animal control will need to get into the garden. I will just let them in. Nothing else, vhenan. It’s fine.”

“I could do it,” Papae says, his brow furrowing as he looks like he’s offering to take a bullet for them.

Nanae reaches for him, and Virevas slides down from her chair at the table, taking her warm mug with her. She doesn’t need to see the mushy stuff. And if Papae’s distracted… she catches Eda’s eye, and they both nod, and then head for the mud room that leads off to the garden. There are lots of windows, there, although the angle’s not as good, and it takes them some searching to find the cat again because they can’t see its eyes anymore.

They’ve only just managed to spot it when Papae finds them and all but drags them away, and then goes and gets some sleeping bags and announces that everyone is camping out in the fancy dining room in the middle of the house until animal control comes, and then if they want to go back to their beds they can.

Eda texts Papae something, and he reads it and frowns.

“Better safe than sorry,” he says. “Not that we aren’t safe. Because we are, perfectly so. But we’re just going to take extra precautions.”

Nanae doesn’t rescue them, although they do bring blankets so that they can make a fort around the table, which is almost fun. Eda keeps texting what seem to be pro-leopard arguments to Papae, who keeps assuring them at once that everything is safe but large predatory animals are  _very dangerous_  but everything is safe but no one is allowed out of his sight. It’s boring and repetitive, and after a minute Virevas opens up the chat group function on her phone –even though everyone else is bound to be unconscious – and starts typing.

_There’s a leopard in the garden. Papae is scared of it._

“Who are you texting?” Papae asks her.

“Varawell and Asarla. But not really, I’m just putting stuff up on the board for when they wake up,” she replies.

Then she blinks, as she gets a response.

It seems she’s not quite right, as Varawell’s icon pops up.

_Did it eat Screecher?_  he wonders.

Virevas frowns.

_No,_  she says, even as she feels a tremor of unease at recalling the absence of sounds.  _Nanae said the animals were all safe. Besides, Screecher could probably beat it in a fight._

_Maybe_ , Varawell concedes.  _Is Nabae going to kill it?_

_No!!_   _Animal control is coming!!!_

_That’s probably better,_  he allows.

“Da’vhenan, if that’s Varawell or Asarla you had better stop messaging them, they’re supposed to be  _asleep,_ ” Papae reminds her, and looks like he’s on the verge of taking her phone away.

“It’s no one, I’m just posting,” she lies, as she downloads the pictures from Eda’s camera’s automatic online storage feature, and uploads them to the chat group. She picks the scariest ones she can find – not that there’s a lot of variety, but it makes it seem much more impressive to have been within photo-distance of a totally wild and ginormous leopard.

_Cool,_  Varawell says.

_It was right outside Eda’s window,_  Virevas explains.

Papae sighs at her.

“Put your phone away, da’vhenan,” he says.

“Uh-huh,” she replies absently, and keeps texting. Eda rolls over in her sleeping bag, and nudges her shoulder, and gives her the  _stop being mean to Papae_  look. She sighs, then, and tells Varawell she has to go, before begrudgingly turning off her phone. Papae still hasn’t calmed down, it seems, even though they’re all camped out and Nanae’s waiting for animal control and the leopard’s probably still just sitting like a lump in the tree.

“Do they have leopards in Ferelden?” she wonders.

Papae frowns.

“No,” he says, even as Eda shakes her head, too. “They have different big cats, though. Lions of a sort, I think. But only in some parts.”

Virevas wonders what Kel would be doing, if she was here. Probably she’d be calming down Papae.

Maybe that’s why he hasn’t relaxed yet?

Eda seems to be trying to take over that job, though, patting Papae’s shoulder and fluffing the pillows, and rearranging some parts of the fort until he lies back with them, even though he’s still stiff as a board and doing that thing where he tells them everything is fine like  _they’re_  the ones freaking out. He gets up when he hears the door chime, but only goes so far as the dining room doorway, and waits there instead. Not far enough away that they can sneak back out to go watch animal control catch the leopard.

Which would probably make the best pictures, in fact.

She listens as she hears Nanae go out, and she’s not even worried, now. Nanae can totally take a leopard. Probably more than one. The  _leopard_  is scared. Papae paces, and  _almost_ leaves, she thinks, but then he looks back at them – still wide awake – and changes his mind.

It’s only when Virevas is almost, despite everything, falling asleep again, that she hears the garden door open. Papae’s steps move quickly, but Nanae meets him in the hall, by the sounds of it.

“Is everything alright? Are you alright?” Papae asks,

“It’s fine,” Nanae assures him. “They used a sleep spell. It went out like a light, and they carted it off. I checked everything after they were gone, that actually took longer. All the nests and coops and hutches are secure. Even Eda’s nug didn’t stir. In the morning I’ll change the wards so it doesn’t happen again.”

Virevas lets out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding.

The animals are all okay, then. Even the nug, Nanae had said, and that nug is dumb as a post. It’s probably the dumbest animal in the whole garden. It’s amazing Screecher hasn’t killed it yet, but then again, Screecher likes Eda. They’ve got some weird thing where Eda brings animals into the garden and Screecher gets treats and it’s like a weird garden protection racket, where as long as the blueberries are flowing, she thinks, nobody’s pets get turned into snacks instead.

She wakes up a bit again because Eda wants to go into the garden to check on things herself, but Papae declares that absolutely  _no one_  is going back into the garden until Nanae’s changed the wards, because what if there’s a whole pack of leopards?

Virevas is pretty sure leopards don’t travel in packs. Eda seems to be trying to explain that, but to no avail; though in the end, they do get to go back to their rooms, at least. Nanae tucks her back in, while Papae checks all the windows, and maybe he’s not  _completely_ wrong on the nightmare front. Because when she falls asleep, Virevas dreams of leopards sneaking into Kel’s room, and of having to barricade the door shut but then Kel comes home for some reason and wants to go in her room and Virevas tries to warn her but then she gets mad and asks if Virevas isn’t even happy to have her home, and…

As nightmares go it’s weird, because it’s almost more frustrating than frightening.

When she wakes up in the morning, though, Virevas walks extra fast past the door to her sister’s empty room. She gets her phone from where she accidentally left it in under the big dining table, while Papae tries to convince Eda to stay  _inside_  until Nanae’s finished with the wards, and she calls her sister.

The phone rings for a while.

“Vas?” Kel asks, her voice thick with sleep.

“We got attacked by  _leopards_  last night,” Virevas says.

There’s a long pause.

“…Nanae get ‘em?” Kel finally asks, still in her zombie morning voice.

“They called animal control,” she admits. “I guess  _technically_  it was only one leopard. That we know of.”

“Nobody’s hurt?” her sister checks.

Virevas sighs.

“No,” she says.

“Okay. Good. Have a good day. If you see any more leopards tell Nanae,” Kel instructs her, and then hangs up with a soft beep.

Well,  _that_ was a pretty lackluster reaction to what could have been an absolutely terrifying experience, Virevas thinks, with a frown. And granted she might have a history of… embellishing some things, sometimes. But there really was an actual leopard last night, and frankly, she just thinks it’s rude that the possibility that her family could have been  _mauled to death_  didn’t even wake her sister right up. Normally Kel’s awake before Virevas most mornings.

This is unacceptable, she thinks, and calls her back.

The phone rings for even longer this time.

“I know you don’t believe me, but there really was a leopard,” Virevas says.

“I believe you,” Kel replies, with a piteous groan. “Don’t you have to get ready for school?”

“That’s  _tomorrow,_ ” Virevas informs her. “And it’s not really as important as wild animals coming after your family, don’t you think?! We could be  _under siege._  The wildlife could be rising up to come out of the reserve and reclaim Arlathan!”

…Okay  _probably_  not, that one leopard wasn’t even scary after the first few minutes, but Kel’s in Ferelden. She doesn’t know that. They could be barricading their doors against marauding dragons for all she knows.  There could be  _fifty_  leopards in the backyard and she wouldn’t be any the wiser.

“Uh-huh,” Kel says. “You should draw me a picture of it. Papae can help you send it.”

“I took a  _photo_  of it,” Virevas counters, and then hangs up so she can text her sister the image.

She waits for the response.

And waits.

And the she calls Kel back again, and has to put up with a ton more ringing even though she’s probably got her phone  _right there,_  because they were  _just_  talking.

“Virevas,” Kel says when she answers this time, and Virevas goes a little rigid at her tone. “I’m trying to  _sleep._ ”

“But it’s the morning. And I sent you the picture, as proof,” Virevas argues.

There’s a long sigh.

“Yup. Yeah. That was cool, there was a leopard in the garden. You can tell me more about it  _later._  Ferelden is in a different timezone, champ, it’s still dark here.”

…Oh.

Right.

“You should have said so earlier, then,” she declares, which is, obviously, why she isn’t embarrassed. Time zones are weird, and everything should just run on the same clock. That would be much more convenient.

Papae comes into the dining room, then, frowning a little.

“Who are you talking to?” he asks.

“Kel,” she admits, and knows he’s remembered about the time thing from the way he frowns and then takes her phone from her. She scowls back, reaching for it.

“It’s me, da’vhenan. I’m so sorry. Go back to sleep, we’ll have a talk about respectable calling answers,” Papae says. She hears her sister make an indistinct reply, and then Papae hangs up the phone, and folds his arms.

“I’m tempted to set this to Emergency Only mode, if you keep talking to people at inappropriate times…” he says.

Virevas throws her arms up into the air.

“I forgot about the time zones!” she says. “I just wanted to let Kel know about the leopard. What if she came back unexpectedly and went into the garden and got attacked?” she suggests, pulling inspiration from her dream, even though she knows that entire scenario isn’t really likely. But it hits the right note with Papae, and he relents after just lecturing her a little more about not using her phone at all hours of the day and night and waking people up unless she needs help.

She’s pretty sure she’s in the clear, but then Nanae comes and gives her their  _Look,_  and asks if she maybe wants to go and work on her letter to Isabela, since she seems so intent on communication?

Virevas was kind of hoping they’d forgotten about that.

“What letter?” Papae asks.

“I’m working on my penmanship,” Virevas hedges, but then Nanae, of course, blows the whole thing out of the water.

“Virevas took one of Isabela’s necklaces. She’s returning it, along with an apology note,” they explain.

Papae looks aghast.

“You  _stole_  something?” he asks.

“I borrowed it! And then she left,” Virevas insists. “And I’m going to write the stupid letter.”

“It is absolutely  _not_  stupid to apologize for doing something you know is wrong,” Papae scolds, and not even her big eyes get him to waver, this time. He messes with her phone, ignoring her protests as he sets it to Emergency Only Mode, which is  _not fair_  because Nanae already picked her punishment for taking the necklace and how she was going to write a letter last night when there were leopards about?!

“This is your punishment for being rude and disrespectful, and misusing phone privileges,” Papae informs her. “It’s a separate infraction.”

Virevas looks at Nanae, but they just raise an eyebrow and tilt their head. Not even contesting it a little.

“But I forgot about the time zones! I did!” she insists. “It’s not fair, I haven’t done anything bad!”

Papae wavers, just a little, and she thinks maybe he’ll relent. But then he hands her phone  back to her without fixing it.

“Just for a day,” he says. “But maybe it’ll remind you to think more about how you use it, and what you say, too.”

“It’ll just make me think you’re  _mean,”_  she counters.

“Virevas,” Nanae says. Putting their foot down, now. She frowns, and glares at her phone, but doesn’t try and protest anymore. Instead she stalks off to her room. She’s going to write a really good apology letter. It’s going to be  _moving,_  and when they ready it to make sure it’s okay, they’re both going to feel so bad for nitpicking her phone use.

Maybe even bad enough to buy her a new phone.

…This could work out, she thinks, as she sits down at her desk.

Before she can really figure out how to write a moving apology letter, though, Eda knocks on her door and tells her to come and have breakfast. And then Nanae makes her go and brush her teeth and wash her hands, and when she finishes  _that,_  she goes by Kel’s room again and finds that the door is wide open.

Papae’s in it.

Virevas stops, for a second, and watches as her father fluffs one of the cushions on the bed, and looks around. Staring at the open closet, before he turns and catches her gaze.

His eyes are a little red around the corners.

She frowns.

Was he crying?

Did… did  _she_  make him cry?

She hesitates, as he clears his throat and walks over to her, and brushes some of her hair away from her face.

“Smells like Nanae’s made steak and eggs,” he notes.

Virevas leans forward and wraps her arms around his middle.

“I’m sorry, Papae,” she says. “I don’t think you’re mean.” Maybe  _misguided_  about her responsibility levels, but then, nobody’s perfect.

Papae wraps his arms around her.

“I’m glad you don’t, da’vhenan. I love you very much,” he says, quietly. And somehow she just feels worse, because sometimes it’s too easy for her to think mean things about him – about anyone, really – and she knows she shouldn’t. She knows she doesn’t really  _mean_  half of it, or at least, not in a way that would be as bad as it might sound if she said her thoughts out loud all the time. Her father can be frustrating and silly and embarrassing, but he’s hers and she loves him and he shouldn’t cry.

She lets out a sigh. He’s always saying she needs to be  _considerate._

It’s hard.

“I love you, too,” she offers, though, because it’s true and it usually helps. And this case doesn’t seem to be an exception, as Papae squeezes her tight.

“I know it’s an upheaval,” he tells her. “It is for everyone. But it’s going to be alright.”

He’s always promising that.

It’s silly, she knows. But when he does, some part of her always,  _always_  believes him, just the same.

“Can I have my phone back to normal?” she tries, after a moment.

Papae kisses the top of her head.

“You can,” he says.

Success!

“Tomorrow.”

Virevas lets out a gusty sigh.

Well, it was worth a shot.


	8. Flowers (Moving In)

 

**Aloe.**

Moving into the house is…a lot of work. The entire clan is there, bustling around, carrying boxes, fretting and worrying. Lasair spent the entire trip down to Denerim asking all about the campus, and the house, and the other girls that will be living there with the cousins. Olwyn doesn’t know them all yet, but she answers as best as she can, and promises Lasair that she can stay over if she wants, for a weekend, to see what it’s like if their dads say it’s ok.

Aunt Serahline and Uncle Adannar have come to help Maibrit unpack, after bringing Illeth over to the frat house. The dwarf in question sticks her head out of one of the upper story windows. “Ollie! We’ve already picked out our rooms! Kel saved you the one next to hers. Hurry up!” Before she disappears back inside.

Kel waves, a box propped on her hip as she tries to wiggle out of Uncle Thenvunin’s fussing arms. Olwyn’s own babae sees her looking at the pair and seems to think that means she feels left out of all the parental love proceedings, before he leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead, and she wrinkles her nose and furrows her brow the same way her papa does, which Victory finds hilarious.

Lasair follows her upstairs with a box of knick-knacks after receiving a kiss of her own and rolling her eyes. “I’m not even  _going_  anywhere babae.”

The room is nice. It’s got a desk, and a bed, and enough room for her hammock chair to hang in the corner next to the closet. Perfect. Lasair flops down onto the bare mattress, “Papa’s going to ask if you’ll be ok, since it’s smaller than your room at home, just you wait.”

Olwyn glances around. That is…very likely. The thing she’s going to miss the most about her house won’t be her room, though. It is…hard, to be away from papa and babae and Lasair. The anxiety she always feels when she’s away from them has settled into her stomach like an old friend, and the doubts begin to whisper in the back of her head.  _They’re dropping you off and they’re not coming back. Just like your real parents did. They’re leaving you here because they don’t want you._

Which is ridiculous, because why would they have waited this long to get rid of her if they didn’t want her? And she’s here with her cousins, and Maibrit, and Aunt Selene. She isn’t  _alone_. She knows fully well that she isn’t being abandoned. It isn’t like that time the whole clan had decided to go to the amusement park when she was twelve and she’d stepped out of the car, heard the screams from the people on the roller coaster overhead, and promptly vomited onto the asphalt.

Her parents hadn’t known then, that she’d been left at a carnival. They hadn’t known that the first thought she’d had was,  _they hate me, they brought me here because they hate me and now they’re going to leave me_. Lasair had stayed at the park with everyone else, and Aunt Serahlin and Uncle Adannar had driven her home late that night, while Babae and Papa had taken Olwyn away for a nice long talk, and hugs, and they’d never gone to an amusement park again.

She’d talked with her therapist about it, after that, and they’d worked on her anxiety, on those feelings. But it never fully goes away, and it never fully will. But she can stamp it down now, she’s more in control of it. She can look at her cousins and know that they are family. That this is just going someplace new, not being left behind.

“Ollie! Aunt Ana brought us all plants for our rooms! Come pick one out!” Someone shouts from down the hall. Lasair turns to her and shrugs, and Olwyn shakes her head and heads down to the kitchen, where her tiny aunt is carting in a box full of pots.

“To brighten the place up,” She explains, as the girls crowd around. “I picked one out for each of you.” She reaches inside, and pulls out a terracotta pot and hands it to Olwyn.

Aloe vera.

A plant to heal. To soothe burns, and cuts. A plant like Olwyn herself.

Somehow, Aunt Ana always knows how to make her smile.

—

**Cactus**.

Moving in day is utter chaos. The front yard of the sorority house is a mass of fretting parents and girls (and boys who have been pulled from the frat house) toting boxes from cars. Maibrit has never been more thankful for Serahlin and Adannar than she is at this moment, because she is not entirely certain how she’d pack and move all of her things here on her own.

She sees everyone, that giant family she is and isn’t a part of, and her throat closes a bit, tightening along with her chest and she turns away.

A hand comes down on her hair, ruffling unruly curls, and she glances up at Illeth. He smiles at her, hefting a box marked “stuff” in her nearly unreadable scrawl, and heading inside the house, “Your room is on the first floor, right?”

Maibrit grins back, “The one with all the boxes already in it and Rissa, can’t miss it.”

Rissa helps her decorate her room with stars. Giant constellations hung up on the walls and ceiling, and a mechanical solar system that Maibrit had built in her senior year of highschool that runs with accurate orbiting cycles. She’d built a second one, and she knows it sits in Rissa’s own room back home.

Rissa, her little star buddy.

“Gonna miss you, star-kid,” Maibrit sighs, “No one else here can fully appreciate astrophysics.”

The plant ‘Aunt Ana’ gives her is a type of cactus. Prickly and sharp, with a bright pink flower blooming on one little nub. Cactus are easy to take care of. And she forgets, sometimes, when she’s busy, to water things. It’s really the perfect plant for her.

Sometimes she wonders if  _she_  isn’t the cactus. Something people can forget about, at times, because it’s easy to take care of. Because she doesn’t complain, and does everything she can by herself. Like when she moved out of her parents’ home at 16 and got an apartment of her own. Cut herself off from a dangerous life that she didn’t want.

She can survive in harsh environments with little water and be just fine.

_Well that’s a little dramatic_ , she thinks as she pulls out a set of textbooks from a box and begins stacking them on the bottom shelf.  _I mean, all things considered, moving into a fully furnished apartment for one and living off of pop rocks and cherry danishes is really not a harsh environment._

A completely  _unhealthy_  one, but not harsh.

Wallowing in pity isn’t something she’s good at. She doesn’t have the time for it. Too much to do to focus on the sad things.

So she places the cactus on her desk next to her rocketship pen and heads outside to thank Ana.

—

**Tulips**.

His apartment is nice. Not as nice as Vivienne would prefer, of course. But it’s close to campus, and it’s clean, and roomy enough, and pet friendly.

His mother seems to be of the same opinion as Vivienne, as she stares around, lip trembling a bit. His father places another box of baked goods on the counter. That’s…the third box.

“Mother, I can’t eat all that.”

“Vivienne will help,” His mother huffs, arming herself with a rag as she goes to wipe down the entire kitchen. Vivienne eyes him over the top of his mother’s head and he has the distinct feeling that no, Vivienne will not be helping him with this. His mother has already baked enough for Vivienne to feed a small army. Between the two of them they could supply pastries to the entire campus.

“I’m sure you’ll find some way of getting rid of them, son.” His father pats him on the shoulder, “You could always hand them out to your neighbors. Now come on, let’s move in the TV.”

Vivienne has perched herself on one of the barstools, watching the proceedings with an air of boredom. Having joined one of the sororities on campus, she’d been required to live in the main house, and they’d moved her things in earlier in the morning with her parents. Living with others…isn’t all that bad for Vivienne, he thinks. She enjoys gossip, and being in the thick of things. But she also enjoys her privacy. He has a feeling she’ll be at his apartment more often than not.

It’s alright, he’d somewhat suspected that would be the case.

“If you’re going to sit there, at least help my mother dust for the seventh time,” Laurent calls out as he and his father carry the TV into the room. He’s not even sure why he’s bringing it. He doesn’t watch much television anyway. But  _Vivienne_  likes to watch the news, and some of the fashion shows, and her guilty pleasure is settling down with a pint of pistachio icecream and binging Judge Judy.

Vivienne looks only slightly mollified, as his mother puts her hands on her hips and huffs, “Laurent, you let her rest. Her parents have just left. She is probably very lonely.”

Laurent sees Vivienne smirk over the rim of her wine glass—probably the only thing she’d helped unpack so far—and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. If there is anyone Laurent’s mother loves more than her son, it is Vivienne. He doesn’t think she loves anyone the way she does Vivienne.

His mother walks out to grab something else, edging past the couch where Comte du Lac is lounging, looking like he’s a king on a throne. He eyes everyone walking past like he’s trying to decide if he likes this new place or not. 

“Here, I brought these to lighten up the room,” His mother says finally, coming in from the car with a glass vase full of brightly colored tulips. Tulips are her favorite, the flowers she painstakingly paints on the walls of her shop, and sets in vases in windowsills. She glances at the vase on the table, and her smile wavers.

He knows that look. She’s trying her hardest not to cry.

Laurent grabs her into a hug, as she begins to sob into his jacket, a stream of tear-filled Orlesian flying from her lips. “Why did the two of you have to go so far away? Why did you not to go Val Royeaux? It is too  _far_!”

“They are kinder to mages here,” His father answers from the doorway, coughing. He has never known quite how to deal with his wife’s tears. An unflappable man, outbursts of emotion make him uncomfortable. He busies himself with cleaning his glasses while Laurent rubs circles along his mother’s back.

She sniffs, “I know. It is safer for ma petite ange des neiges,” She looks over at Vivienne, whose expression softens. His mother turns back to Laurent, eyes red-rimmed but expression determined. “You will look out for her. And she will look out for you.”

Laurent grins, “That’s how it’s always been, maman. There is nothing to worry about.” And it’s true. He can’t remember a time when he and Vivienne weren’t looking out for one another.

His mother sniffs one last time. “Alright.” She nods, and kisses him on the cheeks, before doing the same to Vivienne, then letting his father lead her toward the door. “The two of you, make certain to call. If you need anything, tell me. Make certain you eat.”

Laurent grins, and he hears Vivienne give a low chuckle.

When the door closes, and the two are left alone in the apartment, he sees Vivienne sag a bit against the counter. It is the farthest from home either of them have ever been. And while Vivienne likes to pretend she is always in control, he can see she is just as nervous about all this as he is.

His eye catches on the tulips next to Vivienne’s half empty wine glass and he smiles.

Well, they’ll always have a bit or Montsimaard with them, wherever they go.

—

**Hibiscus.**

Cirimeni places her bag down on her bed and glances around the dorm room. Her roommate isn’t here yet, but Cirimeni hopes she doesn’t mind if she claims the bed on the left for herself. Fenris carries in her two suitcases; one of them is full of half of his things anyway, Tevene snacks from the Aunties and Uncles and her parents.

“It’s nice,” She wants to say. Back home she’d shared a room like this with four younger brothers; two sets of bunkbeds and one dresser stuffed in the corner, with the youngest, little Mani, curled up with her. There’s more space here than she’s used to.

“Leave your stuff here, you can unpack later.” Fenris mutters, “Lets go look around and get something to eat.”

They go to a fast-food restaurant down the street from the campus, and Fenris makes certain to take a bite of her burger and fries first, and she waits and watches for several minutes, feeling self-conscious and ashamed.

They buy some necessities at the cornerstore a few blocks away: shampoo, conditioner, some extra notebooks and stacks of notecards. Fenris scowls at the prices, but fishes the money out of his pocket anyway. He knows that Cirimeni won’t spend money on herself, so he must make certain she gets what she needs. She’s already looking around, wondering at all the things in the store, wondering what would be good souvenirs for her family back home.

When Fenris finally leaves for his own room after making certain she’s alright, and taking several bags of treats with a begrudging smile, Cirimeni glances around the quiet room and begins to unpack. It doesn’t take much, to get it all put away.

She places her skirts, her two nice blouses, and her dress on hangers in the shared closet, with a faded, threadbare winter coat someone had found at one of the thrift stores on market street. She folds up her jeans, and other things in the dresser and places the snacks from back home on the shelf above her desk. She hopes her roommate likes snacks, there are far too many for Cirimeni to eat by herself, even with Fenris taking half of them.  

Most of her supplies are for writing. Pens and pencils and mountains of notecards. It’s easier to reply that way, when people don’t know sign language. At the bottom of her suitcase is a shoebox, and at the bottom of the shoebox is a pack of brightly colored tissue paper. 

She sits on her newly made bed and begins to fold it. She can’t afford any real flowers, at least not right now, and especially not the ones from Tevinter.

Fereldan weather isn’t good for them, so they’ll all be greenhouse grown and overpriced. So until she can get something she’ll make her own, and she does. She places them on the windowsill, and on her desk. She wonders if her roommate likes flowers. She debates over it for a while, before placing a red hibiscus blossom on the other bed.  If her roommate doesn’t like it, she can just move it.

When she finishes, she puts the rest of her tissue paper carefully back in the shoebox, and puts it in the bottom drawer of her desk, before pulling out a set of notecards. She looks down at the blank, lined card and sighs, before she begins to write.

**Hi, I’m your roommate Cirimeni. I can’t talk, but I am very excited to meet you. If you have any questions, just ask. I can write down the answers for you.**  She ends it with a small flower doodle and a smiley face, and hopes that it looks alright, before placing it on the empty bed with the paper flowers.

She curls up in the darkness, listening to the sounds of other students laughing and talking, music blaring down the hall, and smiles.

She’d been worried she’d be lonely without her family and the noisy streets of Minrathous. The sounds are different here, but the noise is the same. And isn’t it exciting? Scary too, daunting in the unknowns laid out before her. But she has Fenris, and there is so much she needs to learn, and see, and people she must meet, for better or for worse.

An adventure. A scary one, but an adventure all the same.


	9. Morning Office Hours

Felasel wakes up alone in bed the morning after the first Frat mixer party. Which is just fine with him. 

He follows his usual routine. Slips off of the bed on the left side and into his house shoes, reties his pajama pants after he uses the restroom and brushes his teeth. He wanders downstairs and into the kitchen where his brother is already awake and laughing at something on his phone. Darevas’s arm slides over Felasels shoulder with a cheery “Good morning!”. His breath smells like wheat cereal and warm milk and makes Felasels nose wrinkle.

“Good morning. Don’t forget to brush your teeth,” he returns.

Darevas blinks and pulls his arm off of Felasels shoulder, holding it in front of his mouth while he breathes out and sniffs, then wanders off to, Felasel hopes, at least use some mouthwash. Felasel glances around and frowns when he doesn’t see Ileth anywhere. He peeks out into the living room where their Uncle Pride (Which is still weird, Felasel is  _not_  calling him that) is studying at the coffee table and asks about the missing baker.

 

“He left for class almost a half an hour ago,” Pride answers absently.

“Did he make anything before he left?”

“I believe he mentioned something about cinnamon pretzels.”

Felasel scours the kitchen for the scent, but only finds a covered metal bowl sitting near the window. He frowns, realizing the dough must still be rising.

That means several hours still until pretzels.

That will be too late for breakfast.

Hm.

 

“Darevas,” Felasel calls “Did you send out your letters yet?”

“Nah,” his brother shrugs “Mama’s like,  _on_  campus, I’m not mailing her a letter. I’ll write the others tonight after practice, maybe.”

“She’s gonna be mad if Papa gets one and she doesn’t,” Felasel tries to point out, but his brother is already out the door with his swimming duffle-bag hitched up over his arm.

Felasel huffs.

Well.

Their mother  _is_  working on the campus, after all. Maybe she can help.

He goes back upstairs and pulls on a soft green t-shirt and dark jeans and heads towards the mathematics building.

–

‘Professor’ Selene’s door is open, but he knocks twice to announce himself anyways.

“Office hours don’t start until noon,” she grumbles around her coffee cup.

“I go off to college and suddenly I’m relegated to office hours to visit my mother? That’s cold,” Felasel jokes. Selene quickly looks up from her work when she hears his voice. She stands with a large smile and gives him a tighter-than-normal hug, closing the door once he’s entered.

“Good morning! How are you? How’s the house? How’s your brother? Are you eating alright? Are you hungry? How are your classes so far?” she rattles off at a mile a minute.

Felasel makes a straight line for the mini-fridge and the drawer filled with snacks he knows his mother keeps while he replies “I’m fine, as is Darevas. Classes are going fine so far, nothing particularly interesting. The house is crowded, although we had a party last night to help 'meet’ people.”

 

“Oh? Meet anyone of note?”

Felasel pauses. He did, of course. The silent, pretty girl with the angry friend. But that’s not really what his mother is referring to. “You’re still mad at me for sponsoring Pride.” he states as he straightens, pulling a tray of fudge and a pint of milk from the mini-fridge.

“ 'Mad’ is probably not the most accurate term, but I’m not thrilled you didn’t talk to us about it first.”

“Noted,” Felasel manages around a bite of fudge. It’s the Orlesian kind, he realizes as the vanilla notes hit his tongue. He swallows before continuing. “You should probably know I sent letters to grandmother and grandfather this week along with the rest then.”

Selene groans “ _Why_?”

“For Darevas, mostly.”

 

His mother runs a hand down her face “Is he still planning to take over for your father?”

“Mm-hm,” Felasel hums around another bite. “You should probably explain to him why that’s a terrible idea before it’s too late for him to turn back.”

“It’s not really my place to tell him about Dirthamen’s work.”

“Then Papa needs to talk to him.”

 

Selene pauses mid-thought as she realizes what Felasel is eating “Are those from the fridge?”

Felasel nods, then frowns as Selene takes them away “Hey!”

“These were a gift from your father. They’re not for you. Do you want some fruit? Or a sandwich?”

Felasel grumbles, but takes the container of grapes anyways.

 

“Why’s Papa sending you gifts?”

Selene pauses before answering “He sends gifts just because, sometimes.”

“Not to your office,” Felasel points out. “What happened?”

 

His mother shrugs, but her nails tap against her desk when she sits back down the way he knows they only do when she’s aggravated “Nothing. He had a sudden work thing in Crestwood. He’s going to be staying there for a few weeks, apparently.”

Ah. So now he and his brother have moved out, and so has their father, temporarily, and she is the only adult left in Fereldan with her work, while the rest have returned to Arlathan.

 

“Do you want me to stay with you for a little while?” Felasel offers. He knows his mother doesn’t care for empty rooms. Her shadows are always bigger there. He can still remember going to the bathroom in the middle of the night to find her sitting alone near the living room window, eyes glowing in the dark and a shadow wrapped tightly enough around her he had almost mistaken it for a blanket.

 

She blinks, and he wonders if she will accept his offer.

But she just smiles and shakes her head “No, Felly. Thank you, but I’ll be ok. You’ll have to live with the rest of your housemates for a while longer yet.”

“Damn, and here I thought I had an out,” he jokes back.

“Mm-hm, nice try though. Besides, would you really leave your brother all alone?”

“I doubt he would be alone for long. He seemed to quite enjoy a girl at the party last night until she ran out in a huff with…”

Selene waits a few moments before gesturing for him to continue “ 'with’?”

 

Felasel contemplates things for a moment. It shouldn’t matter, really. That he had thought the girl was attractive. ’ _Cute’_  even, if only because she seemed so innocent. Naive, probably would be better. But it seems too harsh a word to apply. She didn’t seem like someone who was unfamiliar with the cruelty of the world so much as someone who simply focuses on the positive things instead.

It was…compelling. That must be it.

 

“You were poor when you met Papa, right?”

 

Selene frowns and leans back in her chair “There had better be something less offensive tied into this question.”

“I mean, there was a sizable class difference between you, but you fell in love anyways, right?”

“Well, sure. Why do you ask?”

 

Felasel doesn’t answer right away, and he can see his Mothers eyes light up.

Great.

 

“ _Felasel Enasalin Evanuris, are you in love?_ ”

“ **No** ,” he answers firmly. If he doesn’t stop this here, she won’t let it go. He knows better. Shouldn’t have brought her up.

As it is, Selene raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Are you suuuuuure?” she sings.

 

Felasel tosses a grape at her head, and tries not to be impressed when she catches it. “Yes. I only met her the one time, and she may even have a boyfriend already. There was another elf hovering near her for most of the night that practically yelled at me when she left. He was covered in tattoos, and he looked…” Felasel scrunches his nose a bit “Funny. Not like you and Uthvir. Just a bit too bright.”

 

Selene hums and leans forward, elbows propped up on her desk “Well. Still. If she made that much of an impression on you after only meeting once, it may be a good idea to try and earn her friendship.”

 

Felasel hears his mother, but the more he thinks on the events of the night before, the less he thinks the other man would be a good match for her. He seems rough, and brute-ish despite his thinner frame, and not at all good enough for the woman. If they are dating. Which would probably be fine, and definitely her own decision to make. Except that he isn’t good enough for her. Felasel could be good. His past bed partners certainly didn’t complain. Although the girl did seem to flush and panic when he invited her to bed. Perhaps she needs a more subtle approach? Something more than sex. Well, that’s certainly new territory, but new could be good. His mother might be able to give some advice about wooing someone without scaring them off.

 

“Did you and Papa ever see other people? Before each other?”

“Dirthamen didn’t. I had a relationship before him, once.”

“Did Papa ever meet the guy?”

“He did.”

“How did that go?”

 

Selene clears her throat “Well he…he threw him out a window, actually.”

“So you’re saying I should throw this other guy out of a window if I want to win her heart.”

“No. Nope. That is definitely not what I am saying, and I in no way condone the action of pushing people out of windows.”

 

“But it worked,” Felasel points out.

“There was…a lot more to the situation. And it’s _not_  what made me agree to date your father.”

 

Felasels eye brows furrow together. “Wait. Papa asked  _you_ out?”

“Mm-hm.”

Felasel can feel his eyes narrowing as he tries to picture his quiet, self-contained Papa in his youth attempting to ask out his mother.

He can’t quite seem to manage it.

 

“… _How_?” Felasel settles on.

“Well, technically we were making out in his room first, and I thought he was interested in Aunt Serahlin at the time-”

“Nope, never mind. I regret asking. I’ll ask Papa some other time.”

“I can tell it!”

“You give too many details,” Felasel argues.

Selene huffs, but doesn’t push it.

 

Felasel finishes eating the container of grapes, and stands back up. His mother rises from her chair to escort him out, and asks if there’s anything else he needs.

Felasel contemplates the matter, but shakes his head. He can handle this himself. It’ll hardly be the first person he’s had to track down, and he’s done it with less.

They exchange another tight hug and his mother kisses his cheek and insists that he can call or text her anytime, and that he and his brother are free to drop by whenever, and that if he wants to bring the girl next time she certainly won’t complain.

 

Felasel makes his way back to the house and wonders if the girl would like cinnamon pretzels.


	10. One Step Forward, Miri Baby

Miriel doesn’t wear shoes for the most part. They’re uncomfortable, fit oddly, and after living the majority of her life without them, running around with free feet, she does’t know how to properly move in them. She can dance in her dance shoes because she’s been trained for that, but normal walking, running, jumping around - those are different stories. 

There is a slight issue with not wearing them, however; concrete, asphalt, gravel, the occasional broken beer bottle are all hazards of walking in this new world. And her feet need to be protected, they are integral to dancing after all. 

She buys some sneakers and tries to learn how to walk in them. But there are still days when she doesn’t care to wear the shoes. 

She’s walking along the sidewalk, trying to head to her Political Science class that starts in thirty minutes, when sharp sudden pain lances through her foot.

“Ah!” She hisses, lifting her foot up, stumbling just a bit so that more pain suddenly shoots up her foot. Blood drips from her feet, staining the sidewalk. 

“Fucking Fen’Harel’s balls!” She swears.

“Wow, that is some foul language, I didn’t realize the Dalish were so open about blaspheming their hated gods.” An annoyingly familiar voice quips. She turns around and narrows her eyes.

“Fuck off, Evanuris,” she tries to walk away, but apparently there is glass still stuck in her foot and it moves as she tries to walk. Her leg gives out and she’s falling…then going up as strong arms lift her off the ground. 

“What are you doing!?” She demands, throwing her arms around Darevas Evanuris as  _a reflex._ He grins at her.

“Rescuing this fair damsel and taking her away to my castle where I have neosporin, magic, and band-aids!” He proclaims and she squirms in his hold.

“Put me down,” she demands and he does as she says, gently resting her on her feet. Her legs give out again at the pain in her feet. She hisses and he scoops her back up.

“Let me help you?” He offers this time and she pauses, eyes narrowed and lips thinned.

“Fine.” She grits and he smiles even bigger.

“Excellent!” He carts her quickly off to his fraternity house where he sets her at one of the bar stools in the kitchen. He dashes off to presumably the bathroom or wherever they keep the first aid kit.

Miriel looks around at the house, it’s…very different from when she was here at the party. There are no streamers or weird tables set out for…what game was it? Beer…bingo? 

No, the house is meticulous almost, and smells faintly of…freshly baked cookies. She turns around in the stool to find that there are indeed freshly baked cookies currently cooling on a pan resting on top of the stove. 

Darevas comes back into the room, a unique looking kit in his hands. She shifts in her seat, watching him carefully as he opens the kit and begins to…remove vials? And bandages, but the vials are what concern her. 

“What are those?” They remind her of the vials her Keeper and Healers keep but this is an Evanuris, not a Dalish elf by any means. He shrugs as he removes one carefully, inspecting the label before removing the stopper.

“Elfroot salve, my aunt makes it. She’s Dalish, by the way, and insists we carry all manners of salves and ointments, not to mention my mother.” He shows her the vial, showing her the delicately written label. Elfroot salve. 

“Wait, what? Your aunt…is Dalish? But…you’re not?” That makes no sense. If his aunt is Dalish, it would follow that he is Dalish and yet his face is bare, and his name remains as one of the most staunchly  _not_  Dalish names in all of Thedas.

But Darevas shrugs as he begins to root through the kit, pulling out a couple more vials and some tweezers. 

“My mother’s Dalish too, she was trained as a healer. But her and my aunt, Ana, who made these, left their respective clans. My other aunt, Serahlin, left hers as well.” He moves her foot around and begins to squeeze an eyedropper, now full of embrium extract, onto it. She hisses at first but then the easy numbness takes over and he picks up the tweezers.

“But…why?” Leaving your clan is…who does that? You can’t just leave your clan, it stays with you, makes you see the world differently, interact with it differently….and the world reacts differently to you when you are Dalish. 

Darevas pauses and shrugs, “Personal reasons, I guess. They don’t talk about it a lot.” He begins to remove the glass from her feet and it…feels rather odd. A bit painful, but mostly odd as the pressure’s released. He dabs at the blood with paper towel and pours water over her foot to clean it. 

She watches him closely, feeling strangely…not hateful towards him. Is this really the Evanuris her clan spoke of? She knows he certainly isn’t the Evanuris that sit upon their lands, eating up their water reserves and refusing to aid the nearby clan in any way…. maybe he doesn’t know. The family is a relatively large one and if his mother is Dalish…perhaps he is of a more…bearable branch of the family.  

When her right foot is cleaned, he quickly bandages it with a soft pad that is bound by gauze. 

“ _Why are you doing this_?” She whispers in Antivan, really mostly to herself in wonder than actually asking him. But he looks up and opens his mouth, about to answer when an elven man suddenly jumps out from the hallway and points accusingly towards Miriel.

“STEP AWAY FROM THE COOKIES, FELASEL.” He shouts. Miriel leans back instinctively, eyes wide before turning her attention to the another elven man (how did he even sneak in here?) standing by the stove, hand outstretched to the cookies. 

Oh, it’s Darevas’s brother. 

“They’re out here without any sort of label, previously that has meant they were free for the taking.” He argues with the white haired elf, who in turn narrows his eyes and quickly maneuvers himself to defend his cookies.

“Not this time, today they’re for Nehras. Peanut butter chocolate chip cookies are their favorite.” 

“Surely they will not miss one.” Felasel continues to protest. There is a staring match which leads to something resembling a snort leaving Darevas. Miriel looks down at him to see him shaking his head, grinning.

“Is this normal?”

“Oh, this is nothing. The other day, Ileth tried to keep Felasel away from the fudge bread pudding.” Her brows furrow at the last three words, she gets bread but…. Something in her face must cue him in because he repeats himself…in Antivan. 

Miriel’s eyes widen again in surprise.

“ _You speak Antivan?”_

He grins deviously as he returns to bandaging her foot, “ _Surprised?”_

She quirks her brow at him and looks away, lifting her nose into the air, “ _No, your family probably bought you tutors.”_ She throws in a slang term for ‘bought’, something that formal tutors wouldn’t ever teach.  _Why is she doing this?_  She doesn’t rightly know, but there’s something about him, and it’s infuriating, pushing her to compete, to prove a point.  _To whom?_  She…doesn’t know.

He finishes bandaging her left foot then leans up close to her ear, close enough that she can feel his hot breath fanning over her ear. She suppresses a shiver but loses the battle to not blush.

“ _And what slang would you like to hear?_ ” He whispers, rattling off slang, mostly of the sexual variety. She’s sure it’s supposed to be arousing by how close he is and the tone he’s trying to take, but his accent is…no one actually sounds like that! Like some sort of cheesy romance caricature. He pulls back, smiling and entirely too pleased with himself. She bites her lip to keep from laughing because oh, poor thing is trying so hard. 

And somehow he doesn’t seem the Evanuris she saw on the sidewalk. His blue eyes are nice and his smile is dorky,  _he_  is dorky and dammit he’s trying so hard. 

Miriel reaches up and cups his cheek, smiling small, “Darevas…your accent is terrible.” His face falls slightly but he doesn’t move away from her, if anything he turns more into her hand. 

No.

She removes her hand, bringing it back to herself and he…doesn’t snatch it back or tell her to put it back. 

“Uh, my accent is fantastic.” 

“Not for that slang, it isn’t.” And to prove her point, she repeats all the filthy things he just said to her back at him in the proper accent. His eyes widen and a totally  _not_  adorable blush spreads up from his neck, staining his cheeks pink. 

Miriel arches a brow at him with a devious smirk.

“That is the proper accent.”

He is silent, processing she thinks. 

“You…do not play fair,” he breathes and she shrugs.

“I never said I did.” What is she doing? Is she actually…flirting with him? Is this flirting? She…doesn’t really know, but whatever it is, it’s making him blush and her bite her lip and she wants to…touch him again, she thinks, which is insane. 

He’s an Evanuris! This is…wrong! She’s Dalish, it can’t work, it won’t work.

He is really cute when he blushes.

AH!

She glances up at a clock in the corner and sighs in relief.

“I have class in fifteen and I kinda need my feet -

It snaps him out of his reverie and he gets back to finishing bandaging her feet. 

“Y-yeah, sorry! Um,” he bumbles, hands shaking slightly as he wraps her feet in gauze before murmuring a basic healing spell. She flexes her feet and hums appreciatively at the lack of pain. 

“Oh that’s much better,” she sighs in relief before slipping her foot wraps back on. Darevas rises and backs up, looking decidedly uncomfortable as he stands away. 

“Uh, have a good class?” He offers. She smiles at him as she bounds up. 

“Will do.” she walks to the front of the house and is about to leave when she stops. 

Miriel turns and looks back at him, giving a broad, genuine smile, “Ma serannas…Darevas.” And then she leaves the house, even more confused than she was before.

 

~

 

She’s never really dated someone before. There were a couple of dates with Dhavon before she left for University in Ferelden, and there was that time when she was seventeen and she went out on a couple of dates with a guy from dance (who later came out as gay). But she’s never… _dated_. Not like this anyhow.

Darevas arrives promptly on time at her dorm, dressed in a nice pullover and jeans, hair styled and combed. He opens door for her, pulls the chair out for her at the nice Tevinter restaurant. It is a  _very_  nice restaurant, and she blanches when she sees the prices lined up on the edge of the paper.

Oh.

He’s an Evanuris, he’s loaded and probably can afford anything on the menu several times over. But this is the modern age and she is a modern woman, expecting the man to pay is just unreasonable and a bit sexist. She thinks about her bank account and quickly does a lot of math in her head, nose and ears twitching anxiously.

She can afford the small garden salad and a water. So that’s what she orders and plays it off as a strict dancer’s diet, which is…partially true. Her diet is pretty strict but going hungry is also not good for any of it. She nibbles at the salad when it arrives, trying to make it last as long as possible but her stomach growls…loudly.

Darevas looks up from his beautiful, gorgeous, mouthwatering platter of food.

“Do you want to order something else?” He asks and she quickly shakes her head.

“I’m good, totally normal.” It is not normal. She makes a mental note to pick their next date so she doesn’t accidentally go hungry due to stupid money. About halfway through the dinner she starts fantasizing about the stacks of noodle bowls back at the dorm. And oh! She has left over pizza too.

The date goes well, they laugh and talk and he flirts so shamelessly, making her blush more and more deeply. But she gives as good as she gets, flirting right back and earning a few blushes from him. And for a while she even forgets about being hungry and the money and just focuses in on him.

He’s nice. And she likes that.

He’s also hotter than a rock in summer which is really just the icing on the cake.

When the waiter comes back and offers the check she’s prepared for Darevas to say to split it, but he just takes out a card when the singular check arrives and sends it back without any fuss.

Her stomach rumbles again and she giggles nervously, “It’s nothing.” But his brow furrows in some concern.

“We could get dessert –

“No! Carbs are a dancer’s enemy. Only veggies and fruits for me.” Only thirty minutes until she can dine on delicious sodium drenched noodles.

“Miriel, I saw you eat three tacos.”

“Yes, after a performance, recovery food.” She sips her water. Where is the waiter with his card? Her foot taps impatiently under the table and she avoids Darevas’s gaze. Out of the corner of her eye she sees something across his face that may be construed as confusion but…no, it’s hurt maybe. Dammit, she’s not good with this, and her dress sort of itches and the room’s lit low.

“I need to use the restroom,” she says and quickly leaves, closing the heavy door behind her once inside and somewhat away from the wonderful dinner that she couldn’t eat and the wonderful man who paid for everything.

What is  _wrong_  with her?

She leans over the sink and takes a deep breath. She looks herself in the mirror and fusses at her hair, trying to tuck it back into place in the neat bun.

“You can do this,” she tells herself, “just go back out there and be a normal person.”

“Oh dear, bad date?” A woman asks as she leaves one of the stalls. 

“No, it’s actually…really wonderful,  _he’s_ wonderful. I’m just a freak who can’t enjoy a good thing.” Miriel laughs nervously and sighs.

“So you’re worrying that it’s too good to be true.” The woman says and Miriel shrugs.

“Yes? I mean, there’s also the fact that I can’t afford anything here so I only ordered a salad and now I’m  _starving_ ,” which really isn’t that unreasonable a thing to be upset about. But she knows she could have asked him, could have talked to him about what she could and could not order, what the payment plan was. And she didn’t.

“Or you’re making up excuses so you can avoid the good thing sitting out there, waiting for you. If you were just hungry, you’d talk to him, order more food. But instead, you’re in here, talking to me instead of him,” the woman says and Miriel’s eyes widen. That…that is a very good point. And while she stays in here, Darevas is out there, worrying and being wonderful and probably contemplating ending everything before it can really begin.

She thinks back to when she didn’t know who he was, when she wasn’t angry or afraid. Nothing’s really changed except her perception – he’s still there, still that same Darevas who made her blush at the taco stand, who makes her laugh during class. Who has nice hands and makes her feel perfectly at ease at being herself, not having to hide her accent or her face.

She looks back in the mirror and takes her hair down, fluffing it out until it’s a wild mess like it normally is and doesn’t bother reapplying her red lipstick.

“You’re right, thank you.” She tells the stranger and the woman waves her off.

“You’re young, you’ll be fine. Me? I am actually hiding from the worst date; he actually thinks the Chantry is right about magic.” The older woman gags and rolls her eyes and Miriel winces.

“Oh, that’s awful.”

“You’re telling me, now go! Be with prince charming, be young!”  She tells Miriel as she walks back out to Darevas. He’s on his phone, tapping wildly at the screen, the check case resting nearby. Good, he has his card back, that makes this easier.

She bends down to him quickly and grabs his hand from his phone.

“Miriel, if you –

“Sh, let’s go,” she grins as she pulls on his hand and he follows her up, confused but clearly interested as she practically runs them out of the restaurant and out into the street.

She looks around, trying to see if anywhere has what she’s looking for and decides to take off down the right. It looks promising, or not, but that’s part of the fun – the adventure.

“What are we doing?!” Darevas calls and she laughs.

“I’ll explain when we get there!”

“Ookay?” He calls as they skip along the sidewalk.

“The restaurant was too expensive! That’s why I didn’t eat anything!” She calls back, letting her feet carry her quickly over the concrete.

“Oh. But I paid!”

“But I didn’t know you were going to pay! But it’s okay! It’s the first date, we’ll have lots more to get this right.” They make a turn.

“Wait, you want to see me again?”

“Of course I do! You’re wonderful! I haven’t had this much fun in ages!” The flashing neon lights ahead herald her destination and she grins.

“Really? I had a great time too!”

“It’s not done yet!” She laughs as she pulls him along until they reach it, the great glittering beacon of the Taco Window. They stop and she finally turns to him, breathing just a bit heavier than normal as her hair settles into a messy halo about her head.

“I’m not a fancy person, and I have almost no money and I worry about stuff like that. But, I like tacos so I was wondering if you’d sit me with me while I actually eat?” There’s a little fear that says he’ll say no that he’ll leave, insulted that she did this silly thing but when he smiles all those fears melt away.

“Of course, I was so worried that you were starving yourself or something or you were so worried about this that you couldn’t eat. But it’s just money, I can work with that,” he says and she giggles as they enter the line. She turns towards him and takes his hands as she looks up at him.

“Ma serannas,” she murmurs, hands sliding up his arms as she leans in closer to him. He blushes and a self-conscious laugh escapes him.

“It’s no problem, really. We can do…tacos and burgers and whatever you want, I want you to be comfortable.” He reaches down and tucks her hair behind her ear and she bites her lips as his finger brush against the tip of her ear.

They’re up to order and she orders two soft tacos for herself while he orders a couple of mini tacos for himself. Their easy conversation resumes though this time with more touching and leaning against each other as they wait for their orders.

“Serah….Serah!” The man in the stand shouts to get her attention. She turns to him at the last yell and laughs.

“Oh I’m sorry!” She apologizes as she takes the tacos for herself and hands Darevas his little dish. She takes a bite of her first taco and lets out a happy moan before devouring it and the next. Gold eyes flicker up to blue and she smiles around her mouth full of food, hand coming up in trained politeness. She…probably shouldn’t have eaten it that fast but Creators she was sooo hungry, she felt like her stomach was about to cave in on itself. But he only wriggles his eyebrows and finishes off his last mini-taco.

“You’re cute when you eat,” he says, mouth still half full. A little taco juice dribbles out of the corner of his mouth and she reaches up with a napkin, dabbing it away.

“And you’re a mess, an adorable mess, but a mess,” she teases and he playfully pouts. Miriel boops his nose and he giggles a bit, leaning towards her. There’s a hush between them that has her heart racing, her mind blanking, and her feet slowly raising to point to be closer to him. But then a familiar song begins to blast through the taco stand’s speakers.

Her eyes widen and she skips out, grabbing his little paper tray and tossing it in the garbage before taking his hand again.

“I know this song!” She says as she begins to sway and dance as the music continues to blast.

“When my baby is a mess  
My baby is a dancing queen  
When my baby wears a dress  
It’s like she’s not even a human being.”

His hand comes to rest at her waist while the other takes her hand and he begins to dance with her - a bit more formal than she’s used to for a pop song, making her giggle and blush, but she goes with it. She swings her hips with him to the music. And he clearly knows the song too as he begins to sing along.

“Nobody else! Nobody eeeelse! Nobody else! Has you down…but me,” he whispers the last past, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before lifting her up and spinning.

The world flies around her in a brilliant array as she throws her head back and laughs. Her feet come back down and they finish the song with his forehead pressed up against hers, interrupted sporadically with lifts and turns and loud laughs that have her moving her arms to encircle his shoulders.

The song comes to an end, leaving them breathless and close and oh. He really is beautiful, isn’t he? So full of light and kindness. The world slows and she cups his cheek, guiding his face down to hers.

The kiss is sweet and perfect, even as he tastes like tacos and spice. But his lips are soft and there is a certain surprise in him as she moves her lips against his, eyes fluttering closed as she finally presses herself fully against him. He is warm and soft and everything freezes into a moment of perfection as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her in closer.


	11. Mirevas

The thing is, Miriel is affectionate. Very affectionate. And she loves being affectionate. She grew up with two extremely affectionate parents in a culture that encourages all forms of affection. 

This makes living in Ferelden…weird. People don’t kiss or hug or touch nearly in the same amount as they do in Antiva, and especially not as much as in her clan. She tried to kiss Cirimeni the other day and that didn’t exactly go over well. 

The first semester was difficult with learning that no, she couldn’t just kiss or hug people, that those actions were much more intimate than she is accustomed to, so she has to ask for permission. She gets it down by the second semester, which is coincidentally when she finally agrees to start seeing Darevas. 

And Darevas is also affectionate. Very affectionate. And he is more than willing to indulge in the amount of affection she is craving to give and receive. 

She walks into the frat house, noting that today it smells like honey and bread. Darevas is sitting on the couch, books in his lap, a little line between his brows showing his concentration. 

Miriel smiles and places her things on the ground before sneaking around the back of the couch. She stands behind him and startles him slightly as she bends down, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Whatcha reading?” She teases. He’s blushing from the sudden kiss but smiling too as he leans back into her and snags another kiss. this one is longer, deeper as he delves his tongue into her mouth. She sucks on it gently before pulling away to kiss his lips.

“Hi,” he says a bit dazed. She gives him a small smile before stealing another kiss.

“Hi yourself.” And she kisses him again. And again. And many more times that afternoon.

 

~

 

Darevas and Felasel are taking them out to eat for some reason. Miriel doesn’t really know why, it’s just a regular Thursday, there isn’t really anything spectacular about Thursdays, is there?

Cirimeni’s fingers fly over her phone’s keyboard and little text bubbles begin to appear on Miriel’s screen.

_Do you know where we’re going?_

_“_ Nope, maybe that weird salad place where all the snooty sorority girls go.” Miriel says. Cirimeni’s shoulders shake, but she keeps her lips tightly closed in a bid to not wheeze-laugh. 

“Not a salad place!” Darevas calls from the front of the car. 

“Ooh, then maybe we’re going to that disgusting Orlesian place where they serve snails!” Miriel offers. Felasel turns in his seat look pointedly at Miriel.

“Are you going to guess during the entire five minute drive?”

“Yep! Because my sole mission in life is to annoy you.” She quips. Darevas snorts, muttering that hey, she’s taking his job, when Cirimeni begins to sign at Felasel. He watches her quietly and nods.

“Yes, we’ve been there before, the owner is a very kind older elven man.” Cirimeni smiles and visibly relaxes, though she’s blushing slightly. She signs quickly again, and this time Miriel recognizes it.

_Thank you_.

“Wait, so where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“Oh, so you’ll tell her and not me?” Miriel grouses, more to petulant towards Felasel than actually caring on where they’re going. She likes poking his buttons, almost as much as she likes actually poking Darevas.

“We’re here!” Darevas shouts before quickly parking the car and heading out. Everyone slides out of their seats and Miriel cocks her head to the side while studying the building.

“What is it?”

“Welcome to Herald’s Rest! One of the best damn taverns in the area, a good back up on Thursday’s when Ess runs her Thirsty Thursday special.” Darevas holds his hands up proudly but Miriel isn’t seeing the appeal. It is…a very brown building, with odd slats on the side. Cirimeni doesn’t seem bothered at all, however, drifting not so subtly to Felasel’s side as they begin the walk to the back of the establishment.

“Do…you not like it?” Darevas asks. Her head snaps towards him and she shakes her head.

“It’s fine, I’m sure it’s lovely inside - I’m just used to more color I think.” Lots, and lots of color, reds, and greens, and blues. Ferelden is…very brown. 

Darevas nods and wraps an arm around her, “Well, the food’s colorful if you order right.” He kisses her temple and she giggles. 

“I’ll just have to make sure I order right, then,” she kisses him back and they make their way after his brother and her friend.

**

The next time Darevas takes Miriel out on a date they’re alone. Cirimeni has an exam in her semantics class soon and Felasel wants space. So, Darevas and Miriel head out to some other super secret place. He’s gone so far as to blindfold her as he drives through the town. 

“This is giving me motion sickness, lethallin,” she warns but he tell her they’ll be there soon, wherever “there” is. She shifts her body to hopefully stop the bout of nausea, but soon the car comes to a stop and her body reorients itself. 

“Where are we?” She asks, feeling for the latch for the door. 

“Hold on, I’ll get it.” She hears his door close and soon hers is opening and Darevas is helping her out of the car. She leans heavily against him, face to his broad chest and she might be nuzzling into him just a bit. He rubs her back then encourages her to start walking.

“ _I can’t see!”_ She squeals in Antivan a bit too quickly when her foot hits a rock. “Ah!”

“Alright…here we go,” he takes the blindfold off, slightly mussing her hair. She doesn’t even automatically turn to see what he’s brought her to, instead she opts to stick her tongue out at him before turning and -

Oh. 

There is a veritable riot of color, painted and detailed up the side of a building sandwiched between two dull brown ones. Antivan music drifts through the air and she raises a hand to her face.

“What…what is this?”

“You wanted color, so I found you color. It’s a dance hall on the first floor and a restaurant on the second. All authentic Antivan food and dance.”

She can’t speak, she really, really can’t. How…he…but she…

She turns around and throws her arms around him in a tight hug.

“ _Thank you, thank you_.” She pulls his face down to hers and kisses him quickly, still not quite sure that this is actually happening. Darevas smiles and nuzzles her ear before taking her hand and leading her towards the building.

“Are you ready?”

Oh is she ever.

**

An hour and a half of dancing and thirty minutes into their meal later, and Miriel is leaning happily against Darevas, still nibbling on her bread. She dips it into the sauce and pulls it back up to nibble on some more.

“Ah, you got some sauce there,” Darevas says softly before moving in to get the little dribble of sauce at the corner of her mouth.

“Ah! My sauce!” She playfully cries, her tongue darting out to lick the sauce away. He kisses her cheek instead, laughing at her ridiculous antics. 

He pulls away to return to his own food but she watches him and something…clicks inside. He is wonderfully kind, exceedingly generous, and perfectly willing to be just as off-beat as she is. Her heart softens and she takes another bite of bread.

She’s going to have to bring him home to the clan, which…is only mildly terrifying. But she hardly thinks of his last name anymore, just…him, and honestly that is….perfectly enough for her.

 

~

 

_Come to the studio._

Darevas reads the text as he munches on an apple. Miriel is a cryptic texter - you have to ask for details or else you’ll never get them. She doesn’t do it on purpose, it just happens. But sometimes the mystery is kinda cool - like this. Why does he need to go to the studio? He doesn’t know - it could be something amazing like that time when she pranked him by dragging him into a flash mob. It could be something smaller like when she surprised him with his favorite pizza at 3am during an all-nighter. But it could also be her asking for help with a panic attack. 

Whatever it is, he’s prepared. 

He walks into the gym, heading to the newly added space for all the dancers. His phone vibrates again with a new text.

_Big studio._

He adjusts his course and heads for the studio more set up for her aerial performances. He opens the door to the studio to find it dark save for a backlight on the stage. He can see a faint outline of her body up in the hoop, perfectly perched.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself, c’mere,” she calls. He looks down at his feet and carefully makes his way to the stage. She instructs him to stand almost directly under her before telling him to close his eyes. 

“Ooookay,” he can’t stop himself from smiling as he speaks, wondering what she’s going to -

There is a hand one his face, fingers tracing down his cheek and to his lips. He kisses her finger tips before they disappear only to be suddenly replaced with a soft mouth.

He gasps and his hands raise on their own accord to her face - her very upside down face. Her lips are tentative and the angle is…odd, but not unpleasant as he leans into the kiss. His tongue darts out and tastes the seam of her lips before she gasps. The kiss deepens, tongues pressing up together, lips pulling at lips. 

She licks the remaining apple flavor off of his lips and he feels her smile as her fingers caress his cheeks.

“Hi.” 

He blushes and leans forward for another kiss. 

“Hi,” he says softly against her lips, unwilling to part from her just yet. She shakes trying to suppress a giggle which just makes him want to kiss her even more. So he does, he kisses her until they’re both breathless and slightly frustrated at how little contact they have in this position. 

“Miriel…” 

“Darevas,” she replies, nipping at his bottom lip. 

“Did…did you text me here just so you could re-enact that Spiderman kiss?” 

She stops for a moment.

“…You’re not the only one who gets to be a dork in this relationship, you know.” 

He grins.

“Good.”

 

~

 

“Miri, you have to get up.”

“ _No.”_

_“_ You have class! I have class!”

“It is  _cold out there_!” And it is warm in his bed, wrapped up in a coccoon of blankets that she had shamelessly stolen from him during the night.

“Yes, I’m aware it’s cold -

“Then why not come back to bed where it’s warm?” She asks and there is a pause long enough to let her know that he’s considering it, he’s so considering it. 

“I’m only wearing your shirt,” she says in a sing-song voice.

“Dammit,” he says but there’s not heat in it and she hears him unzip his pants before the rustling of denim as he takes his pants off and gets into bed next to her. She briefly breaks the cocoon for Darevas to slide in and she immediately wraps her small body around his larger one. She tucks her head under his chin and runs her hands up his back. 

“Stay with me for a while?” She asks softly. He sighs and wraps his arms around her.

“Well, when you ask like  _that_ ,” he teases and she chuckles, nuzzling his chest.

“Mmm,” she kisses his neck and rests against him. Maybe just a for a little while.

 

~

 

Darevas has always felt most comfortable in the water.

Whether it was splashing in puddles as a kid, doing laps around the pool, or testing just how far into the ocean he could go at the beach house before someone pulled him back.

He loves the sudden rush of sound dissipating when his ears slip under the water, watching the light pour through the ripples overhead.

His love of water stays with him as he grows.

Maybe that’s why he thinks of doing this for Miriel, when she seems particularly stressed.

  
Felasel’s probably going to be upset that Darevas stole his bubble bath, but it’s expensive and luxurious, and quite frankly wasted on his brother anyways. He’s had plenty of bubble baths before, used to make Darevas take them too even though the soap would sting his eyes (“You’re not supposed to dive in the  _tub_ ,” he would insist but it still didn’t stop him from staying under until his eyes turned red and their mother panicked).

 

Miriel knocks on his door just as he turns off the faucet, and he jumps up eagerly, carefully arranging his robe so that his chest is exposed but his lower bits are covered.

“Hey, Mir,” He smiles, already feeling lighter just at seeing her face (no matter how skeptically she’s eyeing him) “C'mon in.”

 

She glances around his room, and he notes with a bit of amusement that she’s wearing one of his shirts. Again.

The red looks good on her though.

 

“Is there a reason you’re naked?” she finally asks.

“Yes! You’re going to be naked too.”

“That’s  _presumptuous_.”

“No, no, not for sex. I mean, we definitely  _could_  if you wanted, after or something. But I made us a bath!”

 

Her eyebrow shoots up. “A bath?”

“Yeah, a bubble bath. I used the good stuff, too.”

 

Miriel hums, but doesn’t argue when he leads her to his (recently cleaned) bathroom and the waiting tub.

She strips down, and Darevas slips into the bathtub. Miriel follows, placing herself comfortably in his lap and he waits, carefully, for her to arrange herself before placing his hands along the edges of the bath, mindful of her past concerns. She lets out a quiet sigh and relaxes into him while he hums quietly into her ear. A soft song he’s heard drift from her earbuds a few times now, and while he may not know the words, he knows the melody well enough.

 

“Is it alright if I touch you?” he whispers in between placing feather light kisses along her neck.

She nods, and Darevas slowly moves his hands beneath the water, up her legs and past her hips. Fingers brushing lightly over her stomach before he nudges her gently to sit up. He works his hands along her back, feeling tensed muscles turn pliant beneath his touch.

He has watched her, working, practicing, keeping her body in top condition for her performances. But he knows it’s important to relax from time to time. To not keep the tension in yourself, and she does. So careful, so  _strong_ , his Vhenan.  
Darevas wouldn’t intrude on her routine. She knows her body best, and he doesn’t wish to offend her by telling her how to take care of it. But he enjoys this, feeling her relax and let go of whatever may be bothering her lately. He keeps going, fingers drifting over smooth sienna skin, brushing her golden hair to one side as he works through her shoulders. She lets out a soft, accented curse when he manages to release a particularly bad knot, and he feels a swell of pride inside him. He tries not to let his smugness show.

 

By the time the water turns cold, she’s practically asleep, clinging to him with half-lidded eyes when he carries her out of the tub. He wraps his fluffiest towel around her and lays her out on his bed. She stretches, and he is  _very_  interested in what she seems to be inviting. He crawls over her, slowly kissing his way up her body, showing her his appreciation. Ultimately though, he decides it’s best to lay down beside her and wraps her in his arms. Sleeping can be good, too.

She makes a soft, inquisitive noise and he nuzzles his face into her soft, damp hair and hums again, stroking her soothingly as his hands drift along her torso until she goes lax in his arms and her breathing is quiet and even.

Darevas dreams of the ocean, and wakes up wondering if they should visit the Antivan coast for Spring Break.

 

~

 

She stares at the board in front of her and frowns. It’s not like she isn’t clever or bad at noticing patterns or strategizing, but she’s at a certain disadvantage when her family was never the kind to sit around and play board games and apparently Darevas’s was. 

“Ha!” He exclaims, taking another house. She glares at him.

“I trusted you,” she playfully complains. He sticks his tongue at her and collects his money and the turn goes to Felasel, who is handedly beating all of them. 

“All is fair in love and war,” he says and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re just getting back at me for beating you at chin-ups the other day,” she shoots back. There is a brief hush that falls over everyone before a giggle-snort bubbles up from Darevas, which then of course makes her giggle in turn.

Miriel leans over and kisses his cheek and leans against him. She’s going to lose this game, she knows, but that’s okay, she thinks, because she’s not actually losing anything, and besides, Felasel winning seems to be a pretty good thing for Cirimeni right about now. 

 

~

 

Miriel has to constantly remind herself that she doesn’t need to steal things anymore, that she has scholarship money that essentially pays for all of her needs. But sometimes when she’s at the market, she’ll have the inexplicable urge to pocket that apple she’s holding, just…slip it into her pocket when no one is watching and then slip away to a secluded roof to eat it.

But she doesn’t pocket the apple and she continues to try and restrain herself. 

Well…she restrains herself when it comes to retail, but when it comes to Darevas’s  _clothes_  however, well…that’s different. 

He’s so much bigger than her! And his clothes are nice, and soft, and very warm. Ferelden is a cold country and she’s from the wonderfully hot and humid Antiva, she doesn’t do cold. Plus she’s his girlfriend, expecting her not to steal his clothes is a lost cause. 

But…maybe, and just  _maybe_  she’s gone the slightest bit overboard with this. 

She’s in his “normal” sized swimming sweatshirt, the ones with the rainbow colored drawstrings and the small hole in the hem elastic, cuddled up in the warmth when he opens the door to her and Cirimeni’s room. 

He points and loudly exclaims, “AHA! Thief!” 

She stops chewing the cheap noodles that she haggled for today and looks down at the shirt sheepishly.

“…Ooops?” She tries for a shrug but he playfully shakes his head.

“I  _knew_  it was you! What else are you hiding?”

“Are you that bad at keeping track of your clothes because -

He lifts out a pair of his boxers out of her laundry and she blushes. Okay, she may have taken those when she had spent the night at his place and had forgotten underwear of her own, big deal, she was going to wash it before giving it to him.

Darevas reaches back down in the hamper and pulls out two of his shirts.

“You’re stealing all of my clothes.”

She shifts around on the bed and tries to appear very small and very cute in his sweater.

“They’re comfy.”

“You know I can just buy you clothes if you want.” He says exasperated.

Miriel shrugs, “Yeah but…this is different. These smell like you, they  _feel_  like you. Other sweaters just…don’t.” 

Darevas stops for a minute and watches her before sighing and groaning at the same time.

“Whyyy you gotta do that?”

“Do what?” She blinks innocently.

“Be so cute even when stealing my clothes.” He drops the clothes back into the hamper and in two steps is crawling onto the bed towards her. She giggles and makes a high pitched noise of surprise as the bed dips and she narrowly saves her noodles from landing on the floor.

“My noodles!” She exclaims but Darevas just continues forward with the biggest, dopiest grin. He continues all the way up until he’s practically lying on top of her, snuggled up against as sure as the sweater is. He nuzzles her neck and she giggles.

“That tickles.” She offers him some noodles and he accepts it with loud and comical noises. 

“You’re such a dork!”

“Yeah, but I’m your dork.”

She smiles fondly at him and runs a hand through his hair, “Damn straight.”

 

~

 

It happens in class. 

The professor is talking about the political history of Antiva when everything seems to suddenly increase in volume. She hears the blood in her body, she hears the rip of paper from a notebook behind her, the soft whispers of the gossips two seats over. Someone in the front row taps their foot. The lights get brighter. 

Miriel drags in a shaky breath and feels her lungs expand slowly, pressing up against her rib cage. 

Her eyes dart to the door, her brain no longer able to focus on the lecture.

_What’s going on?_

_What’s happening to me?_

Her heart begins to race, her mouth dries. Fingernails scrape against the plastic of the armrest she sits in. The hairs on the back of her neck raise and she is suddenly and violently compelled to  _run._ From what, she…she doesn’t know.

The urge to run increases and thankfully the class ends five minutes early, allowing her to inconspicuously dash out of the room after unceremoniously stuffing her books into her bag. 

There is a…pressure on her back and everything is still so loud, much louder than it should be. Why is it so loud?

_What’s going on?_

_What’s happening to me?_

Her body seems to lurch forward under some unknown weight, her teeth clatter and she chokes back a sudden sob. She has to go, get out of here. People will see. It will see.

…It? 

_Go._

The urge is undeniable, but somehow she composes herself enough to only speed walk through campus and back to her dorm rather than flat out running. But the pressure just seems to increase and her heart aches so fiercely that she’s afraid it’s about to burst. 

_What’s going on?_

_What’s happening to me?_

She tries to think about to anything that could help her understand, her biology course she took last semester, the psychology course -

Is….is this a panic attack?

_You’ve never had a panic attack before. Don’t be melodramatic._

Someone bumps into her and she almost falls to the ground, not from the impact but from the suddenness of it. Everything is loud and big and she is extremely aware of just how small she is. 

Breathe, she has to breathe. No matter what’s going on, she has to breathe, that’s….the first step right? Breathing. 

She takes a deep breath.

And chokes back another sob. 

She finally reaches her building and flings herself up the stairs, avoiding eye contact with everyone. They’ll know, they can’t know, she wants to be invisible, maybe then it’ll stop. 

Cirimeni is walking out of their shared dorm and she smiles happily at Miriel, but the smile quickly falls when she sees Miriel’s face. She signs the few signs Miriel knows and Miriel waves her off.

“I’m fine, just stressed,” she says, giving a smile before dashing into the dorm. She drops her things and makes it to the bathroom, closing the door behind her, before she finally collapses and the dark pressure shoves her into a corner, shaping her into a defensive ball. 

Shaking, shivering, heart pounding so quickly she’s afraid it’ll explode from the pressure. The blood rushing in her ears is deafening, so loud. Too loud.

_Stop being so dramatic! Other people have real problems!_

A sob finally leaves her, mouth opening in a silent scream as she curls even more into herself. Her body shakes only because of her heart, but the pressure at her back is relentless, shoving her down, down, fangs at the back of her neck, claws trailing down her arms. 

_Why is this happening?_

The tile is cold beneath her and she tries to focus on it instead of the pressure, but her heart is beating so fast. And the dorm is loud with the heating system switching different valves on, someone is running laundry or showering, causing the water in the pipes to whir. 

_Get a hold of yourself!_

Her body lurches again in response to the screaming in her head that sounds and doesn’t sound like her. 

Fear, potent and consuming rolls through her, making her wince and whimper at the sudden click of the main door opening.

“Miriel?” 

No.

No. Not him. He can’t see her like this. No one should see her like this. 

She opens her mouth to tell him to go away but she knows he won’t if she speaks. So she’s quiet, trying to keep the sobs as silent as possible.He can’t find her, he can’t. 

“Miriel, I know you’re here. Cirimeni texted me and said you looked upset but you didn’t say anything. Is there something I can do?” Her boyfriend is too nosy, he won’t understand. Judgment. Fear. She shakes.

He calls for her in Antivan, using affectionate little names, a soft voice as he looks for her in the piles of clothes and oddities throughout the space. Can’t find her, can’t. 

The door clicks open.

“Miriel?” He asks. She kicks her feet out, trying to push herself away from him, to hide, to get away.

The door opens more, revealing her boyfriend. His eyes widen as he looks down at her and she quickly looks away, hide, she has to hide. 

“Miri…” he whispers, and she hears the rustle of his clothes as he drops to his knees and crawls over to her. 

She flinches away from him and his outstretched hand to touch her. No, no, no, no. 

“Can you tell me what’s happening?” He asks, voice soft. She shivers, trying to focus on his voice.

“I…don’t…know?” She tries, her body beginning to move as she sucks in great gulps of air.

“That’s okay, that’s okay. Um, can you think of something happy? Like, oh I know, think about the fields you grew up by. Remember how the grass tickled your feet as you ran around with your friends. Do you remember their faces? Varas and Lynnan and Vathoren and Dinas, remember them? Think of Varas’s face, remember how many freckles he has? His bright green eyes….”

He continues to talk about her clan mates, each one that he met over the past summer, describing her clan. And she…begins to see it, begins to feel the grass on her feet, the bark of trees she would climb underneath her fingers. She hears Dinas’s hearty laughter, and sees Lynnan’s quiet smirk. 

Her body begins to still and her eyes close as she slumps to the floor, not from the pressure, but from exhaustion. 

“There you go, you’re doing great, Miri.” Darevas praises and she gives him a soft grunt in response, heart finally slowing to a normal pace. 

She finally gets the strength to turn her head to look at him to see he’s watching her with gentle concern, hands in his lap, holding each other so he doesn’t touch her. 

A sob for a completely different reason escapes her. His eyes widen in response and he tries to coach her back into…whatever that was, but she ignores it, feeling her body return to a state almost resembling normal. She pushes herself across the floor and practically drags herself into his lap.

“Oh,” he breathes before helping her, holding and cradling her close to him. He’s warm and soft and big but not like the largeness of the previous pressure or the people outside. He’s big in the way that makes her feel safe. He won’t hurt her, she knows this. 

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He whispers against her hair. She turns into his chest and closes her eyes, trying to find her voice. 

She doesn’t know how long they stay on the bathroom floor, but he doesn’t protest, just holds her, petting her hair and keeping her close. 

“How…how did you know what to do?” She asks softly once she finds her voice again. It’s hoarse and it doesn’t even really sound like hers, but she is grateful that she hasn’t somehow lost the ability. 

He presses a kiss to her hair, “Felasel had a lot of nightmares growing up and there was…an incident when I was little. I was very scared for a long time and we had to go to therapy and the therapist taught us how to come out of a panic attack.” 

She is quiet for a moment, trying to discern all of that. There have been vague mentions of an incident when he was younger, a fire of some sort she thinks, but she doesn’t know the details. She fiddles with a button his shirt, contemplating. Whatever happened had been enough for both him and his brother to be put in therapy, enough for him to have panic attacks….

“That…was a panic attack?” She asks for confirmation because while the worst of it seems to have passed, the voice still whispers doubt in her mind.

“I think so. You really wanted to hide, right? Didn’t want to be found or anything?” 

She nods.

“Then, yeah, I think so. It’s okay, you know, having panic attacks. Sometimes they just happen, they don’t make you weak or anything.” He kisses her hair again and she nuzzles into his chest. 

“Thank you.” She whispers and he holds her just a bit closer.

“It is absolutely no trouble.”

  
~

 

Miriel is in a rare mood. Her skin doesn’t immediately prickle at touch, her mind is clear, and she feels  _good_. 

Her therapist would call this progress, Miriel calls it ‘about fucking time.’ 

She decides not to waste this good feeling and heads towards the house. It’s not like she doesn’t normally want touch, but she usually has to calm herself down a bit each time a new person touches her. Friends, family, clan-members - she’s used to their touches, knows how their fingers and hands feels against her skin, and she knows they won’t push or bend or break her skin purposefully. They don’t hurt her. 

Darevas doesn’t hurt her either, but that learning curve has been…slow. Simple touches on her hands, arms, and feet have been fine, and the kissing has been fine. Good. No, great even. But she still covets her chest, laying a hand over it and feeling the little bumps of scars from a sharp knife held in a hand that…that was attached to a vile creature of a man. 

But she doesn’t feel that knife today, she doesn’t feel the calloused hands of a wannabe Templar, she doesn’t feel the folds of his clothes, or the hot, stinking breath against her neck. She feels…like herself. 

And herself wants to be touched by something good. 

So she knocks on the house her boyfriend lives in, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. 

The door opens and Darevas stands in the doorway, looking slightly disheveled with a long red line in his cheek. 

“Miri,” he says before yawning and shaking his face.

“What’s up?” He asks.

“Oh I didn’t wake you, did I?” Her brows furrow in concern - he was sleeping she could go…

“Yeah but…it’s good, fell asleep on my books and that’s never good. Oh, come in, come in!” He shoves the door open wider and makes room for to slip in, smiling mischievously as she sets her things down on the floor. 

“Hey, Ileth made some -

She doesn’t let him finish, instead reaching up and pulling his face down as she lifts herself up on her tiptoes and kisses him. His surprise at the kiss quickly fades away to enthusiasm as he presses back eagerly against her lips. 

She breaks away for a moment of air, smiling again as she traces the lines on his face, “You taste good.”

“Yea, Ileth made some butterscotch - mm,”

She cuts him off against with another kiss, this one deeper, more demanding as her tongue sweeps into his mouth. 

“You taste really good,” she says before kissing him again but this time directing him back towards the couch. It’s still funny to her that for all his height and strength and general size over hers, he’s pretty easy to move. He takes direction  _very_  well, which is good since she is so small. 

His knees hit the cushions of the couch and he falls back. She doesn’t even break away from him as she follows him down, climbing over his body so that she’s straddling him. He is warm and his skin is soft from all the chlorine and subsequent lotion he needs. And much to her delight, swimmer’s muscles aren’t hard and bulky, but wonderfully pliant, smooth and absolutely wonderful to touch. 

Her hands move down to his chest and quickly undo several buttons before sweeping into his shirt and over his chest. Her fingers pluck gently at his nipples and his breath stutters for a moment. 

“Is this okay?” She whispers up at his ear, halting her movements. 

“Yes, yes, it’s great,” he replies quickly, turning his head to nuzzle at her ear. His hands trail up her arms, not tugging or pulling, just…moving and touching, to her shoulders. She shudders and pushes back against him, kissing him again. 

They kiss and touch and soon his shirt is completely open, allowing her hands the freedom to roam. And roam they do. He is wonderful to touch, warm, and soft, and big so she doesn’t worry about hurting him with her weight. 

His own hands migrate to her waist, holding her as they kiss and taste each other. It’s when one of his hands slip down to cup her ass that her back arches and she accidentally aligns herself to grind against his crotch.

He sucks in a sudden breath and bucks gently against her. 

That was…wonderfully unexpected. 

She does it again. He shudders again, though there isn’t a buck. It seems like that was more of a reaction of being caught off-guard. 

She grinds again and this time his hand squeezes her ass and he kisses her back with just a bit more intensity. 

Good, good, she likes this. Likes him wanting and asking for things, it makes things more…clear. What he wants she can give…can she? She pauses for a slight moment and assesses.

Nothing in her is afraid or upset, as far as she can tell. Her heart rate is elevated but that’s from the arousal, and she doesn’t feel any pressure to run, there’s no weird prickling at her back, her scars don’t burn. She is…okay. Great even, full of a desire to touch and to make him feel good. She  _wants_  to make him feel good. 

She smiles against his mouth and begins to move more insistently against him. 

“Aaah,” he sighs, stretching his body somewhat so that he can press up against her more. Oh, oooh that feels nice. 

…

That feels  _really_ nice. She adjusts her angle slightly so she can just get…the seams…to match…up, and yes, oh Creators above. The friction of his jeans against her leggings with the now prominent bulge in his jeans strokes against in her in a way she had not previously thought would be nice but…here she is.

“Darevas,” she groans, her accent noticeably thicker but she can’t really bring herself to care as she cants her hips and moves against him. 

“Miriel…I need…it’s…tight,” Darevas winces slightly and squirms, so she removes herself to quickly undo his jeans and pull them slightly off his hips. He breathes a sigh of relief that quickly turns into a moan when she returns to her previous position. 

It’s easier to slide against him like this, and while there is less pressure and friction in a way, she certainly gets a better feel of him. Which…is a bit intoxicating in its own right.  

“Miriel, yes…ahhh, wait, wait.” 

She pulls up immediately, looking down at him questioningly. Is he okay? Did she do something wrong? She didn’t…hurt it did she? Oh she did, didn’t she? Dammit, she should have watched her leg strength better with that last thrust.

“Is this okay? Are you okay? Do you want to be doing this?” He asks and her internal monologue shuts off. 

…He’s checking on her? 

Warmth and affection surge within her before she lowers herself against him again, stopping to kiss him so thoroughly it leaves him breathless. 

“Yes, this is good, I’m enjoying it,” she purrs into his ear. He shudders and leans up against her beseechingly. She groans, kissing his ear, sucking on his lobe as she gently thrusts against him. His hands tighten, and she shivers at the contact. He…feels wonderful under her. Pressed up against her, straining to be inside of her, but not pressuring her. He pleads for contact and she gives it on her terms, swiveling her hips in a downward stroke that leaves him arching his back slightly as she slides over the entire length of him.

“Ahh.”

“Oh Darevas, you’re gorgeous like this, needing and wanting and asking,” she peppers his neck with kisses before kissing his lips again. He swallows, Adam’s Apple bobbing as she feels him twitch against her. 

Her own arousal is a low burning fire, slowly raising in intensity as she leans back and begins to ride him with more regularity. He bucks a few times at her before she has him simply lift his pelvis up at a slightly different angle so she can really grind against him. 

“Miriel!” She groans and she bites her lip, stifling her own noises of pleasure. She glances down at the space between their bodies, how he’s shifted to barely peak out of his boxers, leaking and twitching onto his stomach.

“Darevas,” she lets herself moan. Creators, he’s beautiful, even this part of him. He’s beautiful, and kind, and respect, and he  _asks_. 

Her hands roam up his chest again and gently pluck at his nipples. His head goes back and he moans low as his hips thrust up one last time on his release. She balances back for a moment, watching his face as he comes down from his high, eyes blinking away the haze of pleasure.

“Miri?” 

“Just a moment,” she leans over to the coffee table and quickly grabs a few tissues. She cleans him up and then allows him to pull her down to him. His arms come around her, not restricting or binding her, just…holding her. 

She threads a hand through his hair and wonders. Wonders if maybe she could let him touch her more, if…if she could handle it. 

She takes his hand and rests it against her breast, hesitating a moment to judge how she feels….

He brushes his thumb over where her nipple is, covered by layers of cloth and padding. 

Her eyes flutter closed and she presses her lips back to his. 

“Good?” He asks.

“Perfect,” she replies and shifts to lay on top of him again.

“Absolutely perfect.”

 

~

 

Darevas is wearing a crop top. 

Mirie lifts a hand up to her mouth and tries to cover the rather prominent blush spreading across her cheeks.  _Darevas is wearing a crop top._

His arms and stomach are bare and her fingers twitch like they normally do when she’s about to swipe something. But no, she just wants to  _touch_  the soft skin of his abdomen, to run her nails against him and bite his lower lip as he bends down to kiss her. 

Such a lurid fantasy, she knows. 

He bends down to pick up the ball he’s tossing around with Ileth and his short peak just over the band of his jeans. She bites her lip and tilts her head to follow the curve of his body. 

As if sensing her eyes on him, he turns and smiles at her, waving her over. His shirt waves with the slight breeze and she chuckles at the top. 

She slides her hands up his back and leans into him, kissing the valley between his shoulder blades before raising onto her tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

“I don’t know about food, but I got something you can eat.” She nips his earlobe and splays her hands over his abs. 

“O-oh,” he stammers before turning to Ileth.

“Uh, sorry, ‘cuz! Later?” 

She hears Ileth chuckle but then she’s leading Darevas back to his room in the house and all thoughts of Ileth flee her mind and Darevas in a crop top fills it.

 

~

 

**Pick a color.**

She sends the text to her boyfriend with a grin. Oh he’s going to love this, she thinks. Absolutely love it. And she’s sort of loving it too, even the small idea of it as she looks down at the clearance sale of lacy things before her. They’re all surprisingly soft and comfortable, she imagines, though if this works out in the way she wants, she won’t be wearing them for long.

_???? blue ???_

**Blue it is then. ;)**

_:O ???????? !!!!_

**;)**

She puts the phone away and Katra bounces between the aisles and aisles of sexy lingerie. She holds up a corset and wonders if Fenris would mind the boning.

“Most likely not, as long as he’s boning  _you_ ,” Miriel responds and Katra pauses before letting out a guffaw of a laugh. Cirimeni blushes but lets out a small breath of a laugh before getting distracted what may be just the most uncomfortable looking bra in existence. She holds it up and points to it with a questioning expression.

“You don’t have to get it,” Miriel tells her and she nods, slightly reassured Miriel hopes.

“Only get things you want! Pay no attention to price, I’m buying!” Katra says for the seventh time as she peruses the rack of double-d’s. Miriel and Cirimeni wander around in the B-cup area, seeing no end of overly lacy, frilly bras.

Ah, underwire, Miriel’s dreaded foe. It’s unbearably uncomfortable for someone who for the first eighteen years of her life was not required to wear it. But apparently push-ups and underwire are the norm outside of clans.

Cirimeni seems only marginally more at ease, though she gets paler each time she sees a price tag.

“Stop looking at those, Katra’s paying, after all and she’s got a shit ton of money,” Miriel tells her but it doesn’t really seem to help. Doesn’t want to be indebted, probably, which…Miriel gets. And it doesn’t help that Katra is a human mage, and while she very publicly denounces the magisters and Tevinter’s government, the urge to feel a little put off by her is strong. Still, it’s hard to be intimidated by a woman who has lost not one, not two, but three pairs of pants while out drinking downtown with Isabela.

Miriel picks up a thong and arches a brow as she inspects it carefully. It is so… _small_. She throws a cursory glance at her backside and wonders if the tiny scrap of fabric will actually…that is…hm.

She can’t exactly try these on, that would be unhygienic. But really, how is she supposed to know what length of string will be sufficient to…circumvent the globe, so to speak.

Thongs are weird, she decides.

“Oh that one is too big for you,” Katra says, bopping over quickly, about seven bras that could probably fit her face in them hanging from her arms. She drops all of them and picks up an even smaller, daintier thong and holds it up unabashedly to Miriel.

“That should fit, I can buy it, you try it on and we can go from there,” she announces. She glances over at Cirimeni who’s inspecting a rather cute polka-dotted bra with a small bow in the front.

“That is adorable, you want it?”

Cirimeni startles and turns, the bra still held up to her chest. She glances down at the garment then back up, before picking her phone up and texting.

Katra’s phone beeps and she answers it, “Ah yes, you should go try it on. Ask for Margie, she’ll set you up.”

Cirimeni nods and scuttles off to try it on while Katra guides Miriel to check out.

Fifteen minutes later, she’s in a thong and it feels…weird. Weird in the sense that she can’t feel the entire string that is now between her cheeks and that the lace is slightly itchier on her than she expected, but…it’s not bad, she thinks.

She takes her phone out and blushes as she bends into an acceptable position, zooming into a lace scrap resting on her hip.

_Click._

She sends it to Darevas, blush intensifying. The response is almost immediate.

_!! Baaaabe. Hot. So hot. More? <3_

**Maybe ;) We’ll see**

She chuckles softly as she takes the apparently very successful thong and redresses. She’ll need a few more, she thinks, and matching bras.

“Hey, Katra, what’s my spending limit?” She asks over the wall of the dressing room.

“Uh, one hundred?” She offers and Miriel nods, that’s a lot more than she’s used to but the prices here…she’ll maybe be able to get two thongs and two bras…maybe. Why is lingerie so damn expensive anyways?

Her phone beeps and she pulls it out, a group text from Cirimeni.

_I don’t want to spend that much._

“Then you don’t have to! Be comfortable, Cirimeni,” Katra calls. The phone beeps again.

_But I like the bra. So I’m going to get it._

“Fabulous!”

Miriel heads back out to the racks and begins to file through the underwire bras, still unsure about wearing one. She usually goes for either sports bras or just…no bra. No bra is very nice, particularly when she can just put on one of Darevas’s sweaters and boom, no one the wiser.

But lingerie is sort of an outfit for art, a costume of sorts, for the stage of seduction and she is not one to fall short in any category of a performance. So she searches for something that matches but is also not horribly uncomfortable.

Katra comes out and hangs up the bras she didn’t like…which is six of them. She glances over at Miriel and sighs.

“B-cups, right? Lucky, all of the cute styles are for b-cups, but once you get into D-territory, nothing cute is made anymore. It’s all nude, well, light beige because their nude is always pale, white, and black. Maybe a leopard print. But dammit, I want bright colors and patterns! I want…bows and lace and sexy trim. Media tells us to have big boobs but when they say big they actually mean C-cups, not…these apparently obese monstrosities. But you, oh you can wear  _anything_  and there are bralettes too! I look horrible in bralettes, absolutely no support.” Katra huffs and Miriel purses her lips.

“That’s such bullshit that they do that, your boobs are gorgeous, you shouldn’t be relegated to boring shit.”

“Exactly! Ugh,” the redhead sighs and begins to ruffle through more bras before seeing Miriel turn down option after option.

“Did you look at the bralettes on the other side? May be more up your alley.”

Miriel has in fact not looked at the bralettes. She raises up on her toes, a blonde head suddenly appearing over the racks as she looks over at the…underwire-less lacy bras over the way.

Intrigued, she scampers over and oh! These are…perfect. Absolutely wonderful, well most of them, some have some weird strap things going on with them, but otherwise….

She grabs five and heads into the dressing room.

The first one fits a little oddly and doesn’t offer enough support even for her modestly sized breasts.

The second one is nice, a deep V-necked lacy blue thing with a little pearl hanging in the middle. It’s very cute, and offers a nice view of the Chrysanthemum tattoo on her sternum. Blushing once again, she takes out her phone and snaps a pick of just the tattoo and the edges of the bralette, and perhaps just a bit of her breasts.

**This one?**

_Yes!!!!_

There are three heart-eye emojis after it including a couple of flame emojis and she chuckles before putting on the next one. A pure white one that…oh, it’s see-through. Well then.

She expects to feel self-conscious in it, her nipples are  _right there_  but she actually…likes it. It’s pretty, there are little flowers at the end of the strap, and it’s so delicate and elegant that it isn’t really obscene…she likes it. But she takes a picture of the opaque band and the side of the swell of her left breast, just a small frame really.

**Not sure about the see-through?**

_BEAUTIFUL. HOT. PLEASE. YES._

She grins, this is a fun game. She tries the next one on and it’s…eh, not really to her tastes. It’s this shimmery yellow color that she thought would look more gold than it actually does, but she finds if she angles herself well, she can get a pretty good underboob shot.

She hits send.

_Killing me! <3 <3_

If she’s killing him now, he’s going to die when she goes over to the house tonight in one of these little numbers.

The next one is red and it is to die for. It’s even more low-cut than the blue, and criss-crossed with two straps over her breasts that then come down below the main band before joining the over the shoulder strap in the back. It’s risqué, not too supportive, and really only made for one purpose…or two.

She shifts so that she’s taking a picture of her back, hair pulled over her shoulder while her front remains disguised. There’s no lace on her back, just straps.

**This is more straps than bra tbh**

_But all sexy. You look so hot babe, so beautiful. Want me to buy?? I can be right over._

**Don’t worry ;) Katra’s got it covered, but thank you. <3**

She heads out, entirely too pleased with herself and decides that the blue, white, and red are all musts. And she’s already got the blue thong covered, time to get a red one and a white one. She does her best to match them and occasionally asks for Katra and Cirimeni’s opinions.

Miriel tosses some boy-shorts Cirimeni’s way and she seems interested in it enough to check to see if it will go with her new bra.

By the end of the shopping trip, Miriel is overflowing with anticipation. She wants to get home, get changed and a little glammed up before heading over to the house with Cirimeni. Who also ends up changing.

“So Felasel likes it cute, huh?” Miriel says a bit wickedly. Cirimeni blushes and pulls a dress on overhead. Miriel stares at her own newly acquired purchases and selects the blue pair. He had picked blue after all.

She pulls on a jean skirt and a black long-sleeved crop top that gave the barest hint at lace beneath. She adds in her black, thigh-high foot wraps, and a dark red lip and she feels very, very ready. So ready that she is practically itching to run over and jump her boyfriend, but no, this is a cat and mouse game, she has to be patient just like whenever she went out hunting.

Patience is a virtue, after all.

They head over after Cirimeni’s done with her own makeup, huddling close together because of the cold. The forecast said it was going to be warm! Hence the crop top, but this isn’t warm! Ugh, fine, whatever. They get to the house and Cirimeni insists on knocking and being polite even though they both spend half their nights here now.

Pride answers the door and Miriel’s done with politeness and heads into the living room. Darevas is on the couch, watching Ileth play on the console, and she quickly scurries onto the couch and him, curling herself against his large warm body.

“Miriel! He-ey!” He says, startled.

“It’s still cold outside!” She whines, snuggling in close to him. He hums and wraps his arms around her.

“I’ll keep you warm, don’t you worry.”

She kisses his neck, which is closest, before returning to maximal snuggling real estate (his chest). Cirimeni and Felasel have their cursory greeting before sitting down next to Darevas and Miriel. Ileth sighs and gets up before switching the TV over to the movie they had all agreed on.

“Where are you going?” Miriel asks and Ileth shrugs.

“Someone should make dinner and Nehras can’t come tonight so I can leave you guys the TV while I cook, it’s no problem.”

But it is in a way for Miriel. He looks so put out! And he must be lonely if Nehras can’t come tonight. It’s the third movie night they’ve missed because of rehearsal.

“I can help,” she declares, detangling herself from Darevas. He pouts and she gives him a quick kiss.

“This will give you time to think about which picture I’m wearing,” she whispers before heading out.

“Wh-what?!” He calls back. She winks at him before disappearing into the kitchen.

For the next four hours, she teases him. He comes into the kitchen to get a drink and as she passes him, she brushes against his butt and thigh. She sends him a saved pictures from earlier of each bralette speculating on which one it could be. She bites her lips more often and wiggles her hips a bit too. The pros of being a dancer is knowing precisely how to move your body to evoke reactions from other people and she knows just how to move to get Darevas’s face to turn red.

Her foot slides up his calf while they eat dinner, earning her a blush and a very pointed shift in his seat. She bats her eyelashes at him as she pops a finger in her mouth to suck the sauce off from her burger. Ileth rolls his eyes from his vantage point and Felasel looks vaguely uncomfortable as he shifts his chair that much closer to Cirimeni. Pride stares at his food, trying not to smirk and blush.

Miriel’s finger leaves her mouth with a pop and she just about expects Darevas to ask her to leave with him at that moment, buthe  restrains himself all the way through dinner and cleanup. It’s when they’re about to return to the living room for the second move that his arm slips around her waist and pulls her gently into the hallway.

“Hey,” he says before kissing her. She giggles despite herself, hands holding his biceps as he kisses her.

“Hey yourself,” she says.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Hmm, me or just parts of me?” She replies breathlessly, his hands slipping down her back and to her ass.

“Parts, you, yes.” Well, then, it seems her little game’s been successful. Her hands move up and tangle in his hair, gently pulling him away.

“Pick a color,” she tells him and his chest heaves a bit with tension, face drawn.

“Um…blue?” He guesses and she grins.

“Good answer,” and she leans forward, planting an open mouthed kiss to the hollow in his neck. His breath hitches and they both head to his room, not bothering to explain because by this point the others know and really, they don’t need to know any more than this.

He kicks the door closed as his hands splay over her ass, pulling her closer.

“I’ve wanted you all day, those pictures…Miriel,” he shivers and she chuckles.

“Good.” She turns them and pushes him onto the bed before biting her lip and smirking deviously, swaying her hips. She pulls the shirt up and over her head, revealing the blue bralette. Darevas sucks in a shaky breath, his jeans beginning to visibly bulge.

“Miri,” he groans as she steps and turns so he sees her back. She undoes the button and makes a show of slowly shimmying the skirt over her hips and butt and down her legs. Her hands trail up over her hips and the curve of her ass to rest on her waist as she turns back around.

His eyes are wide and she decides that his pants look decidedly uncomfortable from this standpoint.

“Poor thing, must be practically dying to get out of these,” she purrs, trailing her fingers up his thighs to his fly.

“Uh-huh.” Rendered a little speechless? Good. Though…exactly how far can she push this? The thought thrills her so she bends in front of him, hand coming to cup him through his jeans. His hips jerk and a soft gasp leaves him. She carefully undoes the button and zipper, dragging it down with a precise slowness to match her heated gaze.

“Up,” she says, tapping his hip. He complies and she tugs the pants off completely, not wanting them to get in the way for anything, before returning to her position between his legs. Her hand cups him again through his boxers, though the fabric seems eager to allow him to slip out; she stops it, holding him as she leans forward and presses a kiss to him through the fabric.

His hips jerk again and she chuckles before pressing an open mouth kiss that has her creating a small wet patch. She trails the kisses up his shaft to the crown where she sucks gently through the fabric. Little noises fly out of him as he tries to get closer, to get the wetness that he wants so badly. He has pressure, but nothing nearly slick enough, leaving him hard and wanting to a near desperate point that has her own arousal beginning to rise.

“So, do you like them?” She asks, still gently working at him.

“Whaaa – oh the lingerie. I ohh, um,  _yes_. You’re gorgeous and so hot, so hot, please, Miri.” His hands finally seem to come to life, threading into her hair, though not pressing her to do anything, just resting there as she gently teases him.

Well, she can give him a little something, she thinks. So Miriel slips him out of the boxers and kisses the head of his penis, her tongue darting out for the slightest bit of teasing before she kisses up his body and to his lips.

He tastes like dinner and Darevas and she couldn’t be happier with it, honestly. He palms her ass as they kiss, fingers snapping the band on her thong gently. She squeaks in surprise before blushing and giggling.

“You’re so cute,” he pants before kissing her more deeply.

“Your face is cute,” she shoots back when she can, trying for one of those ridiculous middle school insults only to realize exactly she’d said. Her blush spreads down her neck and she hides her face in the crook of her neck.

Creators take her now, she tries to be sexy and ends up as cute and sounding like a complete  _dork_.

Darevas laughs but nuzzles the top of her head and rubs her back until she looks back up at him.

“You really like them?” She asks, this time slightly less sure of herself. She…doesn’t want to look the fool here, he’s the experienced one and –

“ _Yes_ , Miriel, I have been on edge  _all day_  and you come here and it’s even better in person,” his hands slip down and squeeze her ass, she squeaks, “ _much_  better in person.”

It’s good he likes it, because she loves it and plans on wearing these as much as she can. She pulls him down for another long lingering kiss.

Their hands wander for a while, slowly stroking each other into a mutual heat. Their lips don’t stray far from each other, though when they do it’s to lave attention at necks and ears, and oh Creators how can nibble at her ear and leave her toes curling.

She squirms against him, moving leg up over his waist to bring him closer inline to her body to grind against his erection. He shivers and lets out a stilted breath before sucking on the end of her ear and squeezing her ass.

“Darevasss,” she hisses. Alright, enough, enough, she needs to –

Miriel brings her leg back around and plants her foot against his hip, pushing him gently so that he rolls onto his back. She follows him eagerly, sliding up his body to straddle him. She gives a small swivel of her hips and he moans in response.

“Thong…is…a little rough,” he gasps out and she clucks in apology.

“I’m sorry, baby.” Miriel lifts herself to standing above him, the bed and him bouncing a bit as she sways her hips and slides the thong off. She tosses it down at his face with a smile. The blue looks good against him, she thinks, maybe they should –

“Oh!” His hands are on her hips as they suddenly pull her down so that her knees are pressing into the bed on either side of her head, her sex poised above his face.

“Da – aah,” her thought is cut off as he pulls her against his mouth, his tongue darting up to rub against her. Her head falls back in sudden overwhelming pleasure, a bolt of energy that seems to originate from his mouth that travels up to her abdomen up to her breasts. She back bends over, canting her hips slightly to move against his tongue, hands resting against his abdomen.

His hands are planted against her hips and stomach, holding her in place as he licks up from her opening to that sensitive –

“Aaah!” She cries as he circles around the bundle of nerves before pressing his tongue fully to it. Another bolt of energy and she mewls in pleasure.

It’s a little ridiculous how easy it is for her to orgasm in this position, and he seems eager to take full advantage of it. Well, if he’s…going…to do that, she can give as good too.

It’s difficult, but Miriel lifts herself up from him and shuffles over to the night stand, pulling out a condom. She returns to him in a slightly different position, laying her body against his with her breasts pressing against his abdomen as she slides the condom on.

“Miriel,” he whines, an ask or an exclamation or perhaps both, making her grin as she slowly kisses up his shaft. He moans, promptly returning to his previous activity with renewed vigor as she takes him into her mouth.

Darevas is not a small man in any regard, though he’s not pornographically huge, he’s still sizeable enough that taking all of him into her mouth is just not going to happen. But she holds him, stroking him with her hand just as she sucks and licks at him. His leg kicks out in pleasure and she chuckles around his erection.

He returns the favor by drawing a finger up the curve of her back and it’s her only warning before the bolts energy return and  _don’t stop_. Instead they seem to start at her sex and then resume at his penis and her mouth, circulating through them in tantalizing syncopation.

Her body trembles and it’s all she can do to not stop sucking him and to curl against his abdomen as she comes, her sheath squeezing around the finger he has in her, bright white light of pleasure blooming behind her eyelids.

The moment does not seem to pass and she lets out a frustrated noise, returning to her ministrations with renewed fervor. Her tongue swirls around his head, his tongue darts into her, lapping at her wetness.

_Do not clench. Do not._

Her body wants to tense but she has control, she has…ooooh. The energy pauses in its circuit, pooling evilly at her nerves.

_Fuck. Fuck. Umf._

_No, keep going_.

She goes faster, closes her eyes and focuses on just sucking him, trying not to just fall over in sheer ecstasy as he continues to stroke her. She lets him in as deep as she can take it, out, in again.

His hips jerk and a muffled moan escapes him, nails digging into the soft flesh of her ass. She pulls gently up on him and sucks firmly and he finally comes, moaning and gasping as he fills the condom. She purrs little praises, gently kissing his softening flesh. The energy between them sputters until it dissipates entirely, leaving only a faint tingling sensation in its wake. It’s not an unpleasant sensation, even comforting as she shifts off of his face. She frees him from the condom, rolling to the side of the bed to throw it away. She rolls back, shifting so that she rests her head on his stomach, legs up by his head.

Warmth and contentment fill her, an easiness that has her nuzzling Darevas’s stomach, pressing lazy kisses there.

“Whatcha doing down there?” He asks gently and she shrugs, kissing his stomach again.

“ _You make an excellent pillow,_ ” she says in her native Antivan. Common is just a little too far from her mind at the moment. His face softens into a dopey smile.

“You’re really comfortable down there?” He asks and she sighs. She pulls herself up slowly, once again so that her legs are on either side of him. She cups his face and kisses him nice and slow, teasing her tongue into his mouth before pulling back.

“ _I’m always comfortable with you, ma…_ ” she stops herself, though she doesn’t really know why, he’d be receptive to it, she knows, but she…doesn’t know if she’s ready to say it yet.

_“Ma Darevas,_ ” she settles for and his face scrunches briefly and then turns into a soft smile. It hurts her heart just a bit to see that little bit of hope fall from his face making her regret not saying it just a bit.

He is so dear, she doesn’t…really know what to do with that. But she holds onto him and kisses him again and hopes that it’s enough for now. 

 


	12. Space Lesbians

The first thing Maibrit notices is that her color’s weird. She can see it from across the bar, still nursing a drink and her broken pride while Olwyn and Kel offer her their sympathies and Isabela suggests she go get laid.

She’s been trying not to pointedly stare at Cassandra since her rather spectacular rejection episode, but she catches a flicker of movement, and a small throb in her eye that tells her something is  _off_  and glances over to see a tall Vashoth girl talking with The Plaid Deceiver.

And she’s got…her color is off, somehow. It’s how Maibrit recognizes people now. By their colors. Her ruby, for all its hardships, has given her an interesting way to see things. Everyone’s got something a bit different, a shade, a flicker of two colors entwining….and mages are terrible about it sometimes. Not that they can help it, really. The magic just kind of…flows out in her ruby-vision and takes on a life of its own.

At least it’s better than abominations.

That is…that is an entire bucket of worms Maibrit doesn’t want to get into ever again. She  _still_  has to pretend like she doesn’t notice the giant purple flame maelstrom and demon horns when she goes to visit Selene’s office with a new mathematical theory. And the sharp, jagged bits that stick out of Uthvir’s skin when she glances at them quickly, or the fact that Melarue is surrounded by coiling twisting shadows and  _doesn’t have a face._ It’s easier sometimes just to take the thing out of her head. She’s still got the lyrium-laced engravings in her eye socket, but it certainly tones down the whole giant demon presence thing, which she appreciates. Well, at least she knows that those three and and their body buddies would never go out and hurt anyone…she thinks. At least not just for kicks.

But this Vashoth girl’s got something new entirely. She’s a mage, that much is obvious, but there’s something…different about it. Shattered and put back together, almost. Something more extreme than the frayed edges of Illeth’s own, likes it’s been torn out of her and shoved back in, but maybe not all in the right place.

Huh.

She’s never seen anyone like that before. “I’m going for it.”

“Going to find a pretty thing to take home for the night?” Isabela jokes.

“Multiple nights, if I’m lucky.” Maibrit winks and slips out of her seat. “You guys can head out whenever, I’ll make it back myself.”

“Are you sure?” Olwyn, the ‘designated driver’ for the evening, frowns. “Will you get back alright?”

“It isn’t that far, and I’m not drinking anymore than this.” She holds up the half-empty glass in her hand. “No worries, Ollie.”

She plasters a grin on her face and heads over.

This…this should be interesting.

Maibrit loves mysteries; she loves solving them even more.

_Especially_  when those mysteries involve pretty ladies.

 

~

 

“Space lesbians.” Maibrit announces.

“Huh?” Lela pauses in checking the TV guide channel at Maibrit’s outburst, and looks down at her girlfriend.

Maibrit shifts a bit on Lela’s thigh and holds up her hand. Lela settles her own against it with a smile, as Maibrit presses their palms together, eyeing the different in the size. “Well there’s Yaoi Hands, y’know? Where in a gay couple one of them has hugely disproportionate hands compared to the other one, like Olwyn’s dads. Have you seen Victory’s hands? He could strangle a mammoth with those things. But that’s beside the point. I was thinking about a trope for us. So…Space Lesbians.”

Everything is better with space. And lesbians. Those are two of the things that Maibrit thinks the rest of the world should be more excited about.

“But we’re not in space.” Lela puts in, running her free hand through Maibrit’s hair. Maibrit’s surprised she hasn’t lost it in there. Maibrit has a sinking suspicion that it isn’t the washing machine that is eating all her socks, but her hair. It’s got a mind of its own.

“But we  _could_  be. Come colonize Mars with me, my gorgeous sparkplug of love.” She bats her eyelashes and blows her girlfriend a kiss.

Lela blushes. “You aren’t even an astronaut.”

Maibrit snickers, “Oh really? Because our sex is  _outta this world_.”

It really is a sign of how much Lela loves her that she doesn’t smother her with a pillow for that pun.


	13. The Photograph

Kel gets back from one of her least favourite classes, in the late afternoon, to find Isabela locked in and argument with Olwyn in the front entryway of the sorority house.

She doesn’t hear them shouting or anything. But she opens the door and she can tell by their body language alone that they’re in the midst of a disagreement. Isabela’s hands are on her hips, and she looks like she’s just finished rolling her eyes. Olwyn’s arms are crossed, and her brows are furrowed. She’s in jeans and a sweater, with her hair pushed back by one of the embroidered leather headbands that Nanae made for her. Isabela is, by contrast, wearing one of her little black dresses, which chunky earrings and bracelets and a turquoise belt letting Kel know that she was probably on her way out.

They both turn and look at her as she opens the door. Isabela’s lips purse. Olwyn looks relieved.

“Kel!” she says. “Isabela wants to go to a party at a blacklisted fraternity house. I’ve been trying to tell her it’s a terrible idea.”

Isabela sighs.

“It’s not like I plan to go around leaving untended drinks everywhere and passing out on their couches,” Isabela counters. “I just want to go see. They’re the only all-human fraternity on campus. It’s the perfect opportunity to see a little more about what the whole…  _deal_  is, with human culture here. You know, without the rosy lenses everyone always puts onto things.”

“They’re blacklisted for a  _reason,_  Isabela!” Olwyn insists. “I checked with Karl on the forums and he says it’s not a good idea.”

“Oh, well, if the fuddy-duddy who runs the library thinks I should err on the side of caution, that changes everything,” Isabela replies, shaking her head.

Kel kind of feels like this is a lot to just walk into after a class. But then again, she’s walked in on worse things.

“It really does sound like a bad idea,” she ventures.

Olwyn gestures at her, like ‘see?’, and Isabela at least doesn’t look surprised.

“Well of course  _Kel_  thinks so, Kel’s like the jock version of a library fuddy-duddy,” she declares.

Kel thinks it’s fair to be moderately offended at that.

“Well  _I’m_  not, I like parties! I just think parties full of confirmed sexual predators should probably be avoided,” Olwyn counters.

“I like parties,” Kel mutters, unslinging her bag and toeing off her shoes, as she finally finishes getting inside and closes the front door behind her. Olwyn and Isabela are arguing again, though, so the comment mostly passes by unnoticed.

In fairness, she maybe doesn’t actually like parties – or at least, not the flashy, loud, alcohol-strewn kind that exist as odd hallmarks of college life – but still. She goes to them. She mingles. She makes awkward passes at Pride, at least, and so what if she usually only goes to parties when he’s also going to be there? She has to actually  _study,_  that’s a thing, it’s what they’re ostensibly here for.

…And also that’s mean to Karl. Karl is neat. He organizes lots of rallies and runs one of the most informative university websites around.

“I’m going!” Isabela snaps, and brushes past her. “And if I end up in a ditch somewhere, you can both feel free to say ‘I told you so’.”

Kel catches her elbow, and gets treated to a very challenging glare, and nearly shrugged off. She retracts her touch, though, and lets out a breath.

“Wait. Let me get some stuff. I’ll go with you,” she decides.

“Oh, gods, just – no. You’ll hate it. I’ll be fine,” Isabela counters, but she’s not the only one with a stubborn streak a mile wide.

Olwyn doesn’t seem any mollified by this development, though.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. The invitation was for humans and elven women only,” she says, cringing a little what seems to be some recollected aspect of it. Then she lets out a long breath, and shakes her head. “Kel’s right, though, if you’re going to go then you shouldn’t go alone. I’ll come instead, just let me go change.”

“I can look after myself,” Isabela insists, with an expression that says this has all gone entirely pear-shaped on her, now.

Kel’s not really more comfortable with letting the two of them go without her at this point, though. Not that they can’t look after themselves – because they both can, and she knows it – but now that the subject has been raised, she knows she’s probably just going to spend her whole evening worrying about them until they get back anyway.

Which is how, in the end, she winds up putting on a pair of decent dress pants and a blouse, while Olwyn dons her second best fluttery, dark blue dress, and the three of them pile into Isabela’s car – a late graduation gift from her parents – and driving down to the address listed on the fraternity’s website.

As soon as they pull up, it’s pretty apparent that the place is violating some sound and light pollution guidelines. There are already a mess of cars out front, so they have to go buy a parking spot from one of the neighbours. Then they make their way on foot, back to the hub of noise and activity. Kel hears the distinctive sound of splashes and whoops from what seems to be a pool out back.

It’s probably way too cold for swimming, she thinks.

At the door they get greeted by a human guy in board shorts and a baggy t-shirt, who enthusiastically welcomes them to the party, and points them to where the drinks are. He makes sure to get introductions off to a promising start by leering at Olwyn’s chest, until the three of them manage to finish getting past him and into the main entryway.

The music is loud, and the party activities seem to offer the scintillating range of drinking, shouting, and watching certain members of the fraternity compete against one another in competitive video games. Kel already wants to leave. Not even because the atmosphere is noisy and unpleasant – there just doesn’t seem to be anything to  _do_  that looks appealing. Not even conversation holds a lot of promise, as most every guy in the place just seems set on getting alcohol into them, and the women in attendance are… sparse. She spots a few out in the back, by the pool, and some cheerleading the video game efforts. One girl who looks like she’s had a few too many is leaning against the wall behind the drinks table.

Olwyn goes over to her, while Isabela and Kel assess the kegstand and the open punch bowl and simultaneously conclude that all of it is questionable.

“Hey,” Olwyn says, to the girl. “What’s your name?”

“Ohmigosh,” the girl says, staring at Olwyn wide-eyed. “Your hair is  _so pretty.”_

She reaches for it, and Olwyn endures a fascinated patting. Isabela’s got a look on her face like she’s already regretting this whole idea, but isn’t quite ready to concede the point yet, as Kel comes over and watches her friend gently ask if the girl came with anybody or not.

“Is she drunk or high?” Kel wonders, frowning in concern.

“ _Really_  high, I think,” Olwyn says, catching the girl’s hand to halt any further petting attempts. Kel checks the time. The party couldn’t even have been going for that long; but maybe she got a headstart on things. Or maybe someone put something in  her drunk. She shares a look with Olwyn, and then the girl starts talking about her sister, who’s apparently ‘around’.

“She’s in green,” the girl declares. “It matches her eyes. Marjie helped her pick it out.”

“I’ll go see if I can find her,” Kel decides. “You two stay here.”

Isabela snorts.

“Uh, no. Olwyn can stay. I’m here for the party,” she declares, and links arms with her. Olwyn tilts her head to let her know it’s okay, and fishes a water bottle out of her purse, trying to get her new stray to drink as the two of them begin to wade through the throngs and noise again. A stray hand brushes over her thigh, but not significantly enough that she can say it was on purpose, as they make their way out to the back deck.

The music’s different, and the air feels cold and lingering with damp from the morning’s rain. There are some guys daring one another to jump into the pool, and the women she noticed before. None of them are in green, but when they go over and ask, they confirm that they know the girl by the punch bowl, and her sister.

“Oriana took her home, some of the guys decided to toss her into the pool and her outfit got trashed,” one of them explains.

“Someone should probably take her sister home too,” Kel says. “She’s completely wasted.”

“Oh, she’s  _fine,”_  the girl they’re talking to insists. “She can sit it out, nobody’s going to try anything. My brother’s in this fraternity, they’re all cool guys.”

…Uh huh.

Isabela looks about as dubious of that claim as she feels. But before they can really reply, Kel sees movement in the corner of her eye, and someone closes an arm around Isabela’s midsection. Laughing about taking a swim, though his glee is short-lived as Isabela promptly slams a foot down on his instep and elbows him, howling, into the pool himself.

“Oh,  _dude!”_  one of the guys closer to the door exclaims, as he comes up sputtering.

“Do you know him?” Kel asks Isabela.

“No,” she says.

Wow. She can think of about a million ways grabbing someone you don’t know could go spectacularly,  _spectacularly_  wrong.

“You got off easy, dude!” she calls out to him.

The guy shouts a few obscenities and insults back as he tries to make for the side of the pool, complaining that Isabela’s broken his leg – which she hasn’t, Kel knows, she saw the whole thing – and with another shared glance, they make their way back inside. At least most of the bystanders just seem amused that  _someone_  ended up unexpectedly in the pool again. Isabela perks up a little as they pass a group who’ve started up a game of a beer pong, but doesn’t actually try to linger as they make their way back towards the drinks table.

Olwyn’s stare there, along with her stray, in the midst of a glaring competition with a guy who seems to be loitering over by the disposable cups.

“This is a bust,” Isabela finally declares.

“Let’s take her home,” Kel suggests. “If we can’t get an address out of her, she can sleep it off on our couch.”

The girl at least seems happy enough to lean on Olwyn as Kel helps her pull her to her feet, but then she starts insisting that she needs to find her purse. She can’t seem to remember if she left it by the stairs or the door, so Isabela checks the door while Kel checks the stairs, looking for the described ‘blue one with tassels’.

Which is about when she finds Suspiciously Intoxicated Person Number Two.

She almost doesn’t really notice anything awry, at first, as she checks a few discarded coats and shoes for the purse, and in a moment of epiphany eyes the plant pot behind them, and spies something shiny and blue. She pulls the purse in question out of its hiding spot, feeling pretty pleased with her detective skills, as a couple of guys get pretty cozy on the bottom steps.

“Just – come on,” one of them says.

“But I was partying,” the other replies, a little too loud and bewildered.

Kel pauses, frowning up the steps. It doesn’t seem like either of them have noticed her.

“Yeah, bro, but remember, you said you’d help me out,” the first one replies. He’s a skinny guy, tall but reedy, and he shoots a nervous glance to the top of the stairs. His friend is heavier, and looks like he’d be very much at home in the default stock photos that come in picture frames. Maybe holding a bag of golf clubs or something. He snorts, and reaches for the hand on him.

“Bro, you’re grabbing my butt,” he says.

“Whoops,” the other guy replies, chuckling a little, but not bothering to move it either. “Come on, man. Just come on. You’re too wasted for the party, come and help me out upstairs, alright? You’ll like it, we’ll have our own party.”

The other guy sighs.

“Okay,” he says, blearily.

Well.

Shit.

Kel tucks the purse under her arm, and clears her throat.

“Hey, man,” she says. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

The skinny guy freezes. The other one turns and blinks, still looking bewildered as he turns to size her up. Gaze fixing on her face, and then her ears, and then sliding down to her chest in turn.

“You have?” he asks.

“Yeah, duh,” she says. “Did you forget you invited me? And here I brought the whole squad and everything.”

The other guy manages an unconvincing smile, and a laugh.

“Sorry,” he says. “Some of us started the party a little early. I’m just getting him to his room.”

Kel raises an eyebrow.

“For a private party?” she asks.

The guy chuckles.

“I mean – if it gets him to come upstairs,” he reasons. “You just go back to your squad, bunny. I’ll look after him.”

Did he just call her  _bunny?_

That really shouldn’t be all that surprising, considering she’s already fairly convinced of his disgustingness, but damn if it doesn’t feel like another nail just got hammered into some kind of coffin.

She takes out her phone and snaps a picture of the guy.

“Okay, fucker, I’m not buying it. Put Thurston Howell junior there down, and back away slowly.”

The guy scowls at her, while his would-be victim looks like he’s trying to figure out where this ‘Thurston’ person is.

“Or what?” he asks. “You’ll put my picture on some lame ass message boards?”

“Dude. You are going on the boards no matter  _what,_ ” Kel informs him. “If you don’t put him down I’m kicking your ass. And somehow I don’t think you’re going to have a fun time explaining to this crowd that a tiny little elven woman fed you your own kidneys, but I want you to look at me, and take a good, long minute to decide if you think I can’t actually do it.”

She straightens out her shoulders.

The guy, to his miniscule credit, actually does pause, and stare at her forearms for a minute.

“I wasn’t actually going to do anything,” he mutters, but he lets the other human go.

“Sure, buddy,” Kel replies, keeping one eye on him, as she climbs one of the steps and starts tugging the other guy down. She’s focused enough on Creepy Would-Be Racist that she almost gets back to the drinks table before she realizes that Stray Number Two’s hand has currently migrated to  _her_  backside.

Ugh.

She moves it for him, optimistically hoping that actually  _was_  an accident, as he grins at her.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” she replies.

“I’m Dick.”

She pauses.

“…That’s your name?” she checks, hesitantly, and this apparently inspires him to try and stand up properly.

“I am Richard Wayne Thorbold Trevelyan, of the Ostwick Trevelyans,” he declares, right around when they get back to the drinks table. Olwyn looks up, and almost drops the girl she’s half-carrying; who has apparently gotten worse for the wait. Kel isn’t quite sure what to make of her expression, and half of her is still trying to figure out how that means this guy’s preliminary introduction consists of ‘I’m Dick’. But then he nearly over-balances and she has to keep him from face-planting on the floor, and at this point she’s not even sure what she’s going to do with him.

Based on what she’s observed, he’s probably a member of this fraternity and probable  _lives_ here.

“Sorry,” she offers Olwyn, as she nevertheless manages to shift the tasseled blue purse over to her. “I found him while I was getting that. Someone was trying to take him upstairs for a ‘private party’.”

Olwyn winces, and Isabela reappears, and Kel gives a brief rundown of the situation as the three of them try to manage their two new acquaintances. Eventually it’s agreed that they should probably leave the party with the pair. Isabela takes point while Kel navigates Thurston, and Olwyn steers Purse Girl, and they manage to get them both down the street and squared away in Isabela’s car as Kel jams into the backseat with them, and lets Olwyn – who has basically spent the past hour babysitting – anyway – take the front.

Trevelyan leans against her shoulder.

“They said there would be hot elf chicks,” he informs her, like this was a prophecy he never quite believed until now.

“You almost got raped. I don’t think the party plans really panned out, even if someone with pointy ears turned up,” she informs him, and pushes him off of her. She’s almost tempted to move him around to the other side of the car, but that would probably be too much hassle, and then he might start groping the  _other_  inebriated and disoriented person in the back seat.

She can break a few fingers if she has to. He’s out of it enough that it might not even hurt that much. Not until he wakes up, anyway.

Awkward silence descends as Isabela pulls out of their parking space.

“I should have known this would happen,” Isabela finally says. “I can’t take you two anywhere without everything turning into a rescue mission.”

“Don’t you blame us for this,” Olwyn replies, though she sounds weirdly distracted about it. Trevelyan reaches of Kel’s ears and she bats away his hand, and her cousin turns in her seat, frowning.

“Is he harassing you?”

“I think he might be trying to, but he’s not really effective at it,” she replies. “What are we going to do with him? I don’t think we can let them  _both_  sleep on our couches, Dick here might get handsy or something.”

“We could put him in the basement,” Olwyn suggests.

“The unfinished basement with Merrill’s bottles of blood in it?” Isabela replies, incredulous. “It’s like an ice box down there.”

“It’s not  _that_  cold,” Olwyn says.

“What if we put her in one of our rooms?” Kel suggests, nodding towards Tassel Purse. She really needs to learn that one’s name, she thinks. “I’ve got a sleeping bag, she can camp out on my floor.”

“Well what if  _she_  gets handsy?” Isabela counters.

“And what if one of the other girls wakes up and – and  _he_ is being inappropriate in the morning?” Olwyn adds, turning around again to frown at Trevelyan.

Kel catches his hand before it can rest on her thigh.

“Damn,” Isabela says. “It’s like a real life version of that puzzle where you have the duck, the fox, and the grain, and you have to get them all across the river without them eating each other. Except it’s two drunk strangers and a sorority house.”

A lightbulb goes off.

“Oh, I know!” Kel says. “We can drop Dick here off at the frat house. The guys have couches, right? And I don’t think he’s as liable to get handsy with them. Maybe. Anyway, they’d only need to look after him until he sobers up, and then we could look after  _her_  and just owe them a favour or something. Or Dick could owe them the favour. Considering.”

“Yes,” Isabela decides. “That actually sounds like a plan.”

Olwyn offers to text ahead, but doesn’t get a response before they’re already there. It’s still early in the evening; their cousins might be at a party of their own, Kel supposes. She pulls Trevelyan out of the car with her, and nudges him up the front walk.

“Where are we?” he asks, slurring his words. “This isn’ my house.”

“No, this is another fraternity,” Kel says. “We’re going to see if they’ll put you up for the night, since your fraternity brother tried to sexually assault you.”

She hits the doorbell.

“I rescued you from a sexual assault?” Trevelyan asks her, blinking.

She sighs.

“Other way around,” she tells him.

That doesn’t really seem to compute.

“But…  _I’m_  the guy,” he insists, like it’s somehow relevant.

“Yeah. You’re the guy who nearly got taken advantage of,” she tells him, while he glares at one of the rose bushes by the door, and sways awkwardly beside her.

A moment later the door opens.

Then it’s Kel’s turn to feel a little bit stunned.

Pride’s standing on the other side of it. Wearing a pair of loose-fitted black pyjama pants and a tight-fitted t-shirt that is covered in animal silhouettes of some kind, with his hair loose and a  _pair of reading glasses_  perched  _on the edge of his nose._

Glasses.

On his nose.

She’s not entirely sure she doesn’t make a sound of some kind, before she clears her throat.

“Hey. Hi. Hi, Pride,” she says.

“Is this your cousin?” Trevelyan asks, loudly.

She closes her eyes for half a second.

Right.

Inebriated human dude.

“I, uh. Are the twins in? Or Ileth?” she tries, reaching over to stop Trevelyan from careening into the rose bushes.

“Felasel and Ileth went into town to get groceries. I think Darevas is in his room. I’ll go get him,” Pride says.

“Thanks,” Kel replies, trying not to watch him go a little too intently.

His shirt’s riding up just the tiniest bit at the back.

He motions for her to come in, though, and so she pulls Trevelyan inside, and dumps him into one of the arm chairs in the sitting room. He complains – something about not bringing an overnight bag – and then Darevas turns up.

One kind of weird explanation later, though, and he’s easily agreed to let Trevelyan sleep it off on his couch, and to keep an eye on him in case he needs to go to the hospital or something. Darevas takes out his phone before she goes.

“There’s this group around,” he says. “They call themselves the Chargers. It’s kind of unofficial, but Mama found out about them from some of the staff on campus. You steer them in the right direction and they go and crash parties where people are trying to pull shit. Break it up if they have to, make sure everyone gets home safe. I’ll see if they take the tip.”

“Cool,” Kel says. “How do you get in touch with them?”

Darevas shows her, while Trevelyan starts humming the theme song of a popular sitcom.

She feels distinctly relieved when she finally gets back out of the door again.

Tassel Purse is indelicately snoring against her window, and Isabela and Olwyn have gone all quiet like they just finished arguing about something.

Their arguments are weird and unnatural and mostly new to the university setting, Kel has found. But whatever the disagreement, it doesn’t seem to have been that big of a deal, as they pull out again and Isabela drives them back home. Olwyn gets their guest situated in the sitting room, with some more water, and Kel goes around and tells some of the other sisters that they’ve got a visitor, she’s pretty wasted, and not to be surprised but also to come and get one of them if they notice anything strange.

After all, they don’t really know this girl.

“This was a weird way to spend an evening,” she decides, her stomach grumbling.

Olwyn is quiet as she assesses the contents of the fridge.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Do you want stir fry? I’m gonna make stir fry, I think.”

“Want some help?” Kel asks, but her cousin shakes her head, and starts dissecting vegetables with a certain degree of prejudice.

Isabela slumps against one of the kitchen barstools, still wearing her little black dress. Olwyn’s thrown on her pyjamas, and Kel’s outfit really isn’t fancy enough to feel uncomfortable yet.

“I’m sorry,” Isabela finally says. “I didn’t mean for either of you to come, you know. I kind of knew it would be shitty. I just thought it might be an interesting kind of shitty.”

Kel waves it off. She gets it. Isabela’s never really been in a place that had more humans than elves before, it makes sense that she wants to see more of it – dark underbelly and all. It’s different for Olwyn, she knows. Olwyn’s always been more aware of how things outside of Tevinter work, of places like Ostwick and…

Oh.

Ostwick.

Trevelyan said he was from there, Kel recalls.

Olwyn’s not usually that sensitive about place names, but maybe that’s what’s put her on edge.

“Go change,” she instructs Isabela, poking at her shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Isabela replies, trying to wave her off.

“Go. Go take your bra off. Put on your giant pineapple shirt,” she insists.

“Not wearing a bra,” Isabela counters, snapping the front of the dress. “It’s got a built-in.”

Kel has no idea how a built-in bra is containing Isabela, but then again, she supposes, one could make a decent case that it isn’t. Not really. But she keeps up her pestering until her cousin slides off of her seat and goes, pulling out her earrings and sighing dramatically.

When she’s gone, Kel looks back at Olwyn. Who is chopping up some broccoli with a certain degree of prejudice.

“Hey,” she says. “You need some space?”

The knife slows.

“No. It’s nothing,” Olwyn tells her.

Kel shrugs.

“It’s not nothing if it’s bothering you,” she reminds her, but lets it be, as Olwyn just shakes her head and resumes chopping up vegetables. By the time Isabela comes back, she’s frying them up. Merrill wanders out of wherever she’d crammed herself to study – Kel’s found her under the stairwell, in the bath tub, and on one of the windowsills so far – and Adaia sticks her head out, briefly, before retreating. Morrigan turns up to claim some food and then vanish again, as the rest of them eat. Maibrit, she thinks, is probably out.

Gradually, Olwyn’s pinched expression eases, and Isabela stops mourning their weird outing, and starts making more jokes about rescue parties and how this should be their new thing, now. Just going to establishments and locations of ill-repute and kidnapping vulnerable people, like villains, except they just feed them and tuck them in somewhere safe.

She backtracks as soon as she sees the contemplative look on Kel’s face, though.

“No. I’m not spending my college life being the Robin Hood of some weird anti-rape campaign,” Isabela insists.

“I think the job’s already taken anyway,” Kel informs her, and then explains about the Chargers. What Darevas told her about them, at least.

After they’ve finished, Olwyn goes to see if their guest wants anything to eat, and Kel retreats to her room so she can skype with her family. Virevas is still going on about the leopard that got into the backyard, and unsurprisingly, so is Eda, even if their perspectives seem to veer wildly from ‘we are  _besieged_  by  _wild animals_ ’ to ‘do you think it’s possible for someone to befriend a leopard if they’re nice enough to it?’

Nanae’s the one who signs off with her, though, after Papae finally ushers her sisters off to bed.

“You’re wearing one of your going-out shirts,” they note. “Did you have a good time?”

She shrugs.

“Not really. Isabela wanted to go somewhere, but we ended up leaving after an hour,” she says.

“That’s a shame,” Nanae says. “Do you need any refills on your pepperspray? Papae’s sending you another package tomorrow.”

“I still haven’t even used it once,” Kel assures them.

“Well, don’t be afraid to,” they remind her, before kissing the tips of their fingers, and pressing them to the screen. “Night, baby.”

“Night, Nanae,” she returns, replying in kind, and then closes her laptop and climbs into bed.

It was a weird night, she thinks.

But she’s pretty sure that’s the end of it.

~

That is not the end of it.

Two weeks later, Kel stares at the scented envelope that had been left for her in the mail box.

“Just tell him you’re seeing someone else,” Isabela says.

“I  _did._  He just laughed and said he bets he’s richer,” she replies. “He seems to think I’m ardently pursuing him for his money.”

Isabela blinks, and opens her mouth; and then closes it again.

Kel has, in fact, tried many things to dissuade the ardent pursuit of Richard Wayne Thorbold Trevelyan, of the Ostwick Trevelyans. Not that it’s really grading anywhere above ‘general nuisance’ on her priorities scale, but it  _is_  still a nuisance. The other sisters know to turn him away at the door, so he’s started sending letters. He’s gotten into a few of her classes – she’s honestly not sure if he was already in them, and she just didn’t notice – and tried sitting next to her, but he’s not too hard to evade. She just gets there later than he does, and takes a spot that’s harder for him to move to.

Darevas says that he seems to think he rescued her at the party that night. And also that if she wants him to end up in a ditch somewhere, that can happen.

Kel feels sort of like she fed a raccoon and now it keeps knocking over her trash bins rather than finding it genuinely imperilling, though. Trevelyan’s invited her to a few parties, but she just doesn’t go.

She sighs, and opens up his latest letter.

_Dear Kelly,_  it starts.

Well, she gave it that far, she thinks, and doesn’t really bother with the rest; stuffing it back into the envelope and dumping it into the trash. Isabela plucks it out again.

“Come on, now, it might warn you if he’s planning to orchestrate some kind of public serenade,” she reasons, and skims it over.

Kel turns to her next letter, which is from Uncle Adannar and Aunt Serahlin, instead, and thumbs it open with a little more optimism. Uncle Adannar’s letters are mostly just best wishes and his assurances that everyone back home is meeting their personalized hug quotas, which some attachments from Aunt Serahlin here and there. They’re old-fashioned, but at some point the family had sort of decided that it would be nice to send and receive a few of those, rather than just the digital kind.

“What’s the verdict?” she asks, as Isabela drops the letter back in the trash, and Olwyn wanders down for morning coffee.

“Textually, he thinks you’re playing hard to get. Subtextually, I’m pretty sure he knows you can kick his ass and it’s doing it for him,” Isabela informs her.

Kel wrinkles her nose.

“Ew,” she says.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Isabela offers. “I think he reminds me a little bit of your Pa-“

“ _No,”_  Kel snaps, firmly. “So much no. Do not even go there, Isabela, I  _swear_.”

“But Uncle Thenvunin’s fanfiction was so  _funny,”_  Isabela insists.

Kel shudders, and immediately sets about repressing those memories again. She never should have read it. There are some things people are just not meant to know about their parents. Ever. And she didn’t even actually get past the warning tags.

Olwyn blinks at them.

“What’s going on?” she asks, warming her cup a little bit more with a touch of magic, that sparkles at her fingertips.

“Trevelyan’s still trying to get in Kel’s pants,” Isabela explains.

Olwyn winces, and shifts uncomfortably.

“Let’s just call him Dick,” she says. “It suits him.”

Isabela snorts, but Kel narrows her eyes at her cousin, as Olwyn looks away and leaves the kitchen before she even makes herself a bowl of oatmeal. And they have the good kind, with the nice apple-cinnamon seasoning, that doesn’t completely feel like eating cement.

When she’s finished with the mail, and her own breakfast, she detours past Olwyn’s room.

The door’s open a crack.

She sticks her head in, and finds her cousin furiously rifling through her closet, frowning at her shirts with undeserved intensity.

“Do you want to go clothes shopping with me today?” Kel asks. She doesn’t really need anything, and she knows Olwyn doesn’t, either, but Olwyn  _likes_  clothes shopping. And Kel kind of likes it, too. Retail therapy is pretty popular with a lot of her family, and they usually just donate a lot of stuff to charities if they end up with a surplus.

Olwyn glances back at her, and lets out a sigh.

“I’m okay,” she insists.

“I didn’t ask if you were,” Kel counters. “I asked if you wanted to go shopping. Totally different question.”

Olwyn’s lips twitch.

Another sigh escapes her.

“Alright,” she says. “That could be good.”

“I think your babae sent a letter for you in the mail haul,” she adds, for good measure, before heading off to get ready for class.

Fortunately, none of her classes that day have Trevelyan in them, so. Small blessings. At lunch she passes by a magazine rack, and pauses as she sees Pride’s photo; spread across the glossy cover, smiling adoringly at Adaia. She knows better than to trust paparazzi pictures and trashy magazines. Adaia says they’re siblings, and anyway, she’s only flirted with Pride a few times. He’s cute; it’s not like it’s the end of the world, though, if it doesn’t go anywhere.

It doesn’t precisely do wonders for her mood, though.

In the afternoon she stops by her Aunt Selene’s office, some part of her kind of tempted to just talk to someone who’s had feelings for a weird Evanuris, and had it – so far as Kel can tell – turn out for her, but her aunt isn’t in. And after about five minutes she decides it’s silly, anyway. The tabloids are always saying things like that Uncle Dirthamen is having an affair, or that the twins are actually aliens, or that everyone is a secret abomination. She remembers being eleven, in the grocery store, staring in a kind of trainwreck-like fascination at a magazine that claimed that the twins were a product of tumultuous one-night stand between her aunt and her  _grandnanae._

Still, she feels like maybe she could use the trip, too, by the time she can Olwyn badger Isabela into letting them take her car, and head off to the nearest clothing store.

Some of these shops were around when her parents were still going to school.

That’s weird to think of, Kel decides. Even though a lot of shops in Arlathan have, obviously, also been around for most of their lives. But it’s odd to be in a foreign place, but have it tie in to their history like that. She’s seen photos of this campus, of the surrounding residents and districts, and while a lot of it’s changed over the course of a few decades, a lot of it hasn’t, either.

None of them really get lost around here.

They find the shop they’re looking for without much trouble. The other major clothing store in town is owned by a branch of the Evanuris businesses that’s under Andruil’s control, so, by mostly unspoken agreement, none of them go there.

This one is big, and bright, and recently renovated, even though it’s old enough that it could be the same clothing store her Papae used to buy hit notorious tie-dye shirts from. Olwyn suggests they find cute stuff for their sisters, to send home from Exotic Ferelden, and so they start searching the racks.

And first the store doesn’t seem much different from the clothing outlet near the big summer vacation place back home. Kel finds the most ridiculous, tourist-y stuff she can; hats with mabari ears on them, and mabari-themed socks – she gets a pack of those to send to Uncle Adannar – and musical ties, and furry velvet paintings of Ferelden’s weird royal family. She lets Olwyn find most of the good stuff. Her cousin turns up a pair of gigantic, shiny gold-framed sunglasses that Virevas will probably like, and a sweater for Lasair that manages to exemplify the local fabric cuts, and some very pretty scarves for Eda.

She’s busily looking at some of the dresses when Kel sees something familiar out of the corner of her eye, and comes up short.

“Oh,” she says.

In the ‘retro style’ display rack, there is a mannequin modelling a pair of loose cargo shorts, some fingerless gloves, and a purple button-down shirt with a pattern of golden ducks on it.

Her papae has a tie just like it.

She checks, and finds that they have one in his size. And, well, that just seems like fate, really. She picks it up, and gestures Olwyn over, and together they venture further into the retro racks. Exclaiming over the odd familiarity of the things they find, as it feels weirdly like embarking on an archaeological expedition of their parents’ past. A lot of it, of course, is just nebulously retro. But some of it looks like it wouldn’t be out-of-place in old family photos.

“We should dress up,” Olwyn suggests. “Put everyone in old-timey clothes and go take some photos out in front someplace that hasn’t changed since our parents went to school here. Maybe we could recreate some of the pictures they took. I bet it’d make a cool post somewhere.”

It sounds whimsical.

“Sure,” Kel agrees, easily enough.

Olwyn grabs her arm, then, staring intently at the clothing rack.

“We should check the thrift stores,” she decides. “I bet they have even better stuff.”

This, Kel knows, is quickly becoming a Project, but maybe that’s a good thing. Whatever had been bothering Olwyn this morning, it seems to have abated somewhat between one clothing rack to the next. Which was kind of the whole point. They make a few more rounds through the section before taking their purchases to the till, and then Olwyn navigates their way to the nearest thrift store.

Which is actually the only one in town, as it happens.

But Olwyn’s guess turns out to be pretty accurate, as Kel gets a feeling like she just walked into the back of her Papae’s second closet at the big house, as soon as they’re inside.

The store is big, at least, stretching for as many rows at the department store had. Olwyn takes the lead, snatching up things here and there, checking sizes and making Kel text Felasel to for his latest waistline measurements.

_It’s unlike you to be subversive about my sugar intake,_  he tells her.

_Olwyn’s buying you pants,_  she informs him.

_I don’t need pants,_  he tells her.

_We’re planning a weird photography project to make everyone look like time-travellers,_  she tells him.

There’s a brief pause, and then she gets the measurements.

“Felasel’s onboard,” she announces, before giving them over. Olwyn nods in approval, and then continues on her intent shopping spree. At some points Kel can’t tell if she’s picking stuff out because it would fit one of them, or because she wants to send it home to somebody. Probably both. There are like fifty of Uncle Victory’s old t-shirts on the racks – Kel knows because he still has most of them – and Olwyn grabs a big, soft one with a motorcycle on it, and she’s pretty sure that’s going to be a new nightshirt. They find a pair of the skinniest skinny jeans that Kel insists won’t fit anyone, but Olwyn makes her take them to the change room, and lo they cling to her like a ridiculous boot-cut second skin.

They find a crisp pink and white jacket that would not surprise her if it came out of Aunt Serahlin’s closet, and no end of frumpy, loose-knit sweaters that make her think of that picture of Aunt Selene that Uncle Dirthamen keeps in his wallet. Vests and blouses and even a pair of sunglasses with assorted fruits dotted along the frames. Apart from some of the t-shirts nothing is an  _exact_  copy of anything she can remember seeing in anyone’s closets or photographs, but everything from twenty or more ish years ago looks naggingly familiar.

“This is weird,” Kel finally decides. “Remind me never to actually time travel.”

Olwyn grins.

“This is going to be great,” she declares. “It’s going to be like synergy. Our parents – our  _family_  – and us.”

Kel pauses at the odd conviction in her tone.

Olwyn’s hand hesitates over the top of a fluffy white scarf. She swallows, quiet, and then turns and starts looking through the beanies behind it.

Kel looks at the scarf, which probably wasn’t the cause of any distress in and of itself.

Still.

It’s a nice scarf.

Not for her, but…

She might find a use for it, anyway. She adds it to the pile, keeping one eye on Olwyn, who gets increasingly quiet again until they finally roll their purchases up to the checkout. It’s a much bigger expenditure than Kel was planning on, but her parents have basically given her a much higher budget than she spends anyway. Contrary to her Papae’s instructions, she doesn’t actually buy all-organic ingredients to cook up a weekly supply of meals from scratch.

She  _likes_  cup noodles.

And bagels.

And beef jerky.

They stuff the back of the car full of their purchases, and Kel slides behind the wheel again.

And Olwyn lets out a gusty sigh.

“I think he’s my cousin,” she says.

Kel pauses, wondering if she misheard.

“Which cousin?” she asks, as Olwyn turns in her seat to look at her.

“Not one of you guys. I mean… Richard,” she explains. “Back before I was adopted, my family name was Trevelyan. And I know I had cousins. I’m pretty sure one of them was named Richard.”

It actually takes Kel a few seconds to catch up, on that sentiment. The twins have Evanuris cousins, of course, and Ileth has some cousins who aren’t in their circle as well, but her only cousins have always been  _cousin_ -cousins, and she’s used to the same being true for Isabela and Olwyn.

But of course, Olwyn had a whole other family before she was abandoned. With younger brothers, and cousins, and ‘parents’.  _Those_  people.

“It could be a coincidence,” she says.

“I know. But, he said he was of the Ostwick Trevelyans. And that was how… when they, um. When they were talking about family stuff, they used to teach me that. They were the Ostwick Trevelyans,” Olwyn explains. “I think there were some more well-off Trevelyans in Kirkwall or somewhere, who did something that they wanted to distance themselves from. Maybe.”

She sounds tired, Kel thinks. Like all the energy that shot through her during their shopping spree has abandoned her just as quickly.

“You want me to ask him?” she wonders.

Olwyn shakes her head.

“No. You’re avoiding him, he’s harassing you,” she says.

“More like he’s annoying me,” Kel replies. “I can manage a conversation. Maybe it’ll even dissuade him. After all, if he’s your cousin, and you’re my cousin, then he’s basically my cousin and we can’t date. It would be inappropriate.”

Olwyn snorts.

“Pride is technically the twins’ uncle,” she points out.

“Uh, no. Pride is technically the twins’ grandmother’s ward. He isn’t legally adopted,” she countered. And then she pauses, and clears her throat. “Not that  _that_  has anything to do with anything.”

Olwyn grins, just a little.

“You know our papaes aren’t legally brothers, right?” she checks.

“ _I_  do. I bet Dick doesn’t,” Kel counters, and pointedly starts the car.

It still manages to be a pretty introspective drive home, though. About halfway through it starts raining. Kel listens to the whoosh-click of the window wipers, as Olwyn stares at the window. Lost in thought.

Sometimes, Kel thinks, it must be very frightening to be a mage. It gives you such a firsthand seat to all the ugly stuff in the world. Olwyn’s never had to go looking for it, the way Isabela does, sometimes. It met her when she was still just small, and it hangs around in dreams and spirits. The way Envy haunted Ileth, and odd things shadow the twins.

But ‘being a mage’ isn’t what really hurt Olwyn in her past. Having  _those people_ react to it the way they did, that was what hurt her.

_They_  hurt her.

By the time they`re unpacking the bags from the car, Kel isn`t feeling precisely charitable towards any Trevelyans at all. They get everything inside, and Olwyn starts sectioning out what they’re keeping for the project here and what they’re sending home as presents. Kel goes and gets one of the leftover boxes from her care packages out of the basement, which should be big enough to fit it all, and then leaves her friend to the organizing frenzy she’s more or less dropped into, and quietly heads back out.

She takes the car back out, and goes and refills it with gas, and then drives down to the fraternity house where the disaster of a party had been held. The place looks quieter in the day. Reasonably normal, if a little ostentatious. The front garden is overgrown, but not badly, and it looks like someone didn’t seal the gold paint around the door frames properly, because it’s flecking at the edges.

She rings the bell.

There’s a wait.

After a few minutes she knocks instead, wondering if the bell’s busted.

There’s a thump, and then the distinctive sound of steps, and the door opens.

“Yo,” a vaguely familiar human greets.

“Hey. Is Dick here?” she asks.

The guy grins.

“Well he’s a little to your south and left, if you’re looking,” he declares, gesturing kind of pointedly towards his crotch.

Kel gives him a flat look.

“Trevelyan,” she clarifies.

“C’mon, bunny, lighten up,” he returns, but when the criticism doesn’t make much of an impact, he gestures inside. “Fine, fine. His room’s upstairs. First door on the left. You his girlfriend, then? The hot elven ‘minx’?”

She makes a face.

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’, and making her way up the stairs. Some part of her is actually kind of concerned at finding him still here, though. Did the guy trying to take advantage of him at the party get kicked out? Or does he  _really_  think that he rescued her, and not the other way around, and that nobody here is a threat to him? Or does he just not have any other options?

_Focus,_  she chides herself, and knocks on his door.

“Goddammit, Phillip, if you’re putting another sign on my-“

The door opens, and Trevelyan trails off. Startling a little. He’s wearing what has to be the shortest bathrobe she’s ever seen in her life.

Probably, she thinks, it’s meant to be worn with pants, on most occasions.

Impressively, it takes him about two point five seconds to shift gears from ‘deer caught in headlights’ to ‘well, well, well’, as he repositions himself against the doorframe, and grins at her.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away,” he declares.

“Hey. So. Tell me something. Did any of your aunts or uncles or cousins, or otherwise distant-but-not-too-distant relations ever abuse and abandon their little girl for manifesting magical talent?” she asks.

Trevelyan’s shit-eating grin wavers, a little.

“…It’s a little early to be asking after my family history, don’t you think?” he ventures.

“Just answer the question, please,” she replies, tilting her chin up and folding her arms.

Trevelyan flounders for a moment, clearing his throat, brow furrowing as he straightens out his robe a little bit. Kel supposes there’s nothing technically wrong with the way he looks. He wouldn’t surprise her on some midday soap opera, but she and her Papae would probably agree that he was miscast as the ‘handsome stranger’, given that there’s remarkably little about him that’s actually  _interesting._  No freckles, no tan, his hair is dark brown, he’s not really all that stocky, or tall, or short, or lean, or chubby. He reminds her of something, kind of.

…The guy from the LEGO movie, she realizes. But a human instead of a LEGO.

Holy shit, even his hair cut’s right for it.

“I think that might have happened,” he says, and she snaps back to the matter at hand. Right. “Nothing to do with my parents or anything, of course, we’re not anti-mage. That’s all antiquated stuff. Mage oppression is over, and good riddance. Are you a mage?”

“No,” she says, and she’s not even going to touch the rest of that. “What was your cousin’s name? Do you remember?”

Trevelyan frowns, and then shrugs.

“I don’t know, I never really… oh, no wait. I  _do_  remember. Olwyn,” he declares. “That’s right. She used to come over sometimes, to our grandparents, along with her brother. I think she was named after our great-aunt. Batty old spinster. Yes, now I remember. Her parents turned her out for having magic, and then she got mixed up with some criminal types from Tevinter. Bad business, all around. Shameful.”

Kel’s jaw tightens.

“And your parents just – what? Let her be put out on the street?”

Trevelyan frowns.

“We weren’t all  _that_  close. They didn’t even know about it until after most of it had already happened, and by then she was in an orphanage.”

“But they didn’t go get her,” she presses. “Why not?”

He shrugs.

“Well why would they?” he counters. “She was just some cousin. I’ve got dozens upon dozens of them. We’re a big family; there were other people closer to it that could have intervened.”

“But they didn’t,” Kel points out.

Trevelyan just shrugs, again, and she feels a rush of frustration. That’s not how it’s supposed to go, she thinks. That’s not how family works. You don’t just  _let_  people fall away, don’t just let children get pushed through the gutter. Even though it worked out, in the end. She could never do that, she thinks. If anything happened to any of her cousins, and there were kids left in the lurch. Not if she had the means, and the Trevelyan’s seem like the kind of people who would have the means.

But that’s not  _this_  Trevelyan’s fault, she reminds herself. This idiot was just a kid himself back then.

She lets out a long breath.

“Okay,” she says. “Thanks for the information.”

Trevelyan frowns, as she turns.

“Don’t you want to come in?” he asks, dropping his tone a little. “We could do a little studying together?”

“Pass,” Kel replies, and hastens her way back down the stairs, and back out of that chipping, stuffy, gold-flecked fraternity house.

She gets back to the driveway of the sorority house before she realizes her vision’s gone blurry. Then she pauses, and swallows, taking a minute to swipe the moisture away from her eyes before she goes back inside. She heads quickly through the sitting room, and finds her target in the kitchen, texting someone as Maibrit asks Morrigan what she wants on her pizza.

Kel scoops Olwyn up, hugging her tight and lifting her off her feet.

“Whoa,” Olwyn says, even as she clutches her back.

“I love you,” Kel declares.

“Awww,” Maibrit says.

Morrigan makes a disgusted noise, but Olwyn sags a bit, because she’s perceptive enough to know what’s probably prompted the unbridled display of attachment. Her arms curl around Kel’s shoulders and she leans her weight against her, and lets out a long, resigned breath.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “He’s such an ass, I’m sorry-“

“What are you sorry for?” Kel replies. “You didn’t invent him. You barely know him. I’m your cousin, we decided, remember? And if you want other cousins we have those, too. All of us are superior models, I think. One of us even bakes.”

Olwyn laughs a little wetly.

“I know,” she says. But then… “They left me. They would have left me there forever.”

Kel squeezes her tighter, almost tight enough to hurt.

“That’s why they don’t get to have you anymore,” she declares, firmly. “You’re ours, now.”

Olwyn makes a tiny sound, and clutches at the back of her shirt for a minute.

And then she makes another one.

“I really appreciate this, but you’re kind of crushing my ribs,” she mentions.

Kel loosens her hold.

“Right. Sorry,” she says, and pulls back enough to see that Maibrit’s standing there, grinning at them, and Morrigan has left. Presumably in a disdainful and possibly also jealous huff. She looks at Olwyn and gives her a sort of helpless shrug, but it feels better when her cousin pulls her in for a less fraught embrace, and then kisses the side of her temple.

“I think I’m going to go call my parents,” she decides.

“Okay,” Kel agrees. “If you want Dick run out of the school, Darevas has already offered.”

Olwyn nods, but doesn’t seem liable to take up that option as she retreats back into her room.

There’s a bit of an awkward pause, as she realizes it’s just her and Maibrit and the leftover ambiance of an over-the-top emotional display.

“What do you want on your pizza?” Maibrit finally, mercifully asks.

“Pepperoni’s fine,” Kel says, with a nod of thanks, and then she goes and retreats to her own room as well. Plucking up her phone as she opens up her contacts list, and picks a certain number, and waits as she hears it ring.

It doesn’t take long.

“Hey, kid,” Nanae says. “Everything okay?”

She swallows.

“Yeah,” she confirms. “Are you in the middle of anything?”

“Only the dishes. Why?” they ask.

“I just wanted…” she trails off, and draws in a deep breath. “I just realized I never thanked you.”

“For what, baby?”

“For rescuing me,” she explains. “When I was little. You didn’t have to come and get me. You could have just left me, and no one would have cared. And I’m really glad you didn’t.”

Her eyes itch, and she tries to swallow it back down, as there’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line.

“Kel,” Nanae says. “Kids don’t have to thank their parents for being parents. It doesn’t matter how they got to be parents. That was a choice I made, and I’d make it again. You’re my kid. That’s how it works.”

She brushes a hand down her face, and feels a rush of warmth settle against her spine.

“I’m glad you made that choice,” she insists, all the same.

“I’m glad I made it too,” they assure her. “Are you okay? Did something happen? I swear your Papae’s just waiting for an excuse to fly back to Ferelden, if you need us we can be there in a few days, tops.”

She smiles.

“I’m good,” she promises. “There’s just this guy, he’s been – um. Well, that doesn’t matter so much, the point is it turns out that he’s related to Olwyn. From before she got adopted, and everything. And it was just kind of… they left her there. She had family, cousins and grandparents, and they just… let her end up in an orphanage.”

Nanae’s quiet again.

“I guess it just made me appreciate that you didn’t do the same thing,” she reasons.

“…Well,” they finally say. “There was a whole week of your life where it was a little touch-and-go on the parental thing, but that was mostly because I hadn’t met you yet. Once that happened the deal was sealed. And then your Papae got a very unusual phone call from me, but he didn’t stand much of a chance after the first time he held you, either.”

She chuckles.

She remembers the first time they told her the story, and she was a little bewildered that Papae hadn’t known they were adopting her until after they were basically like ‘surprise!’

Not, she thinks, a good way to go about things in general principle.

But for them it had worked out.

For all of them.

“Is Papae there?” she asks.

“He is. You want to talk to him?” Nanae offers.

“No,” she says. “I’m sniffling, and he’ll here it, and then he’ll get worried. Just tell him I love him. I’d say thank-you to him too but I think he’d get offended that I’d ever suppose he  _wouldn’t_  drop everything and rush out to adopt me even before he knew me.”

“Probably,” they agree. “I love you, Kel.”

“I love you too, Nanae.”

She hangs up, and lets out a long, shuddering breath.

Holy shit.

She’s never going to another weird party with Isabela  _again._

~

In the end, between coordinating schedules and some people dithering on clothing options and whether they want to do it or not, and  _where_  they ought to do it, it takes about a week to get Olwyn’s photo project into motion.

Eventually they run a vote, and most of them agree that the best place to do it is in front of the student union building. The building got a renovation about ten years ago, but most of it’s around back. The front entrance only get some minor restorations, and looks more or less like it does in an old picture that Ileth managed to get from his father. It’s got all of their parents in it, posing for a pre-graduation shot, along with Flower the First.

They don’t match outfits or anything. That’d be near impossible, and Olwyn declares that it isn’t the point, anyway. Kel squeezes into her retro skinny jeans and pulls on a floppy, tie-dyed vest, and a pair of generic footwraps which haven’t changed in like six hundred years, and are therefore probably good to go. Isabela winds up in a white t-shirt dress with the pink jacket overtop, and the chunky sunglasses with decorative fruit around the sides – which go surprisingly well. Olwyn pulls on a pair of shorts, and an over-sized mustard gold sweater, with an orange tank top underneath.

Ileth arrives in his duly appointed uniform of old-fashioned board shorts, and flip-flops, and a university cap, and no shirt. He looks the least dated, Kel thinks, but he’s also the only person who’s dressed almost exactly like one of their parents. Darevas’ pants look about as painted on as hers do, and his shirt has the name of a band that’s about thirty years old on it; fingerless gloves climbing up his forearms. Felasel, by contrast, is in loose-fit cargos, and an open plaid shirt, and a fitted black tee, everything cleaned and pressed so it looks more ‘recently worn’ than ‘actually old’.

At Olwyn’s insistence, they don’t try to mimic poses. She sets up the timer on the camera, and they just cluster together; Olwyn, then Kel, then Ileth, then Isabela, then the twins. They take a few shots and goof off a little bit, but the end results actually look really good. Kel blinks as they compare the finished products to their parents’ photo. Which is barely showing signs of age, and it really does, she thinks – it really does look kind of like they managed to travel back in time. Like they might meet their own parents at their own age on a street corner somewhere, Back to the Future style.

“We should do another one, when we all have signifs,” Ileth suggests. “Our parents are all hooked up in their picture.”

“Maybe,” Olwyn agrees. “If we get them.”

“They took their photo just before graduation,” Isabela points out. “Whether we all meet anyone romantically or not, we could always just take it again with some of the friends we make.”

“That sounds good,” Ileth agrees, and Kel gets distracted for a minute, looking at all of their parents when they were young.

“Do you think they’ll like it?” she wonders. “Or will it be weird?”

“Only one way to find out,” Darevas says, and a few minutes later, Olwyn picks out the best photo, and does a little composition to arrange it next to the original, and the sends it.

There’s a pause, as they wait for the responses to come in.

“I bet you Uncle Adannar doesn’t even notice we wore unusual clothing,” Felasel says.

“I’m not taking that bet,” Ileth replies.

“I bet you Uncle  _Thenvunin_  just thinks we’re being unusually fashionable,” Darevas suggests, and Kel narrows her eyes at him.

“Papae knows fashion,” she insists.

“That’s what will do him in. He’ll think we’re being  _retro chic,”_  Darevas insists.

Which is… admittedly plausible.

“Bet you Uncle Vena makes a ‘fruit of his loins’ joke at some point,” Olwyn says.

“You think he’s going to spot strawberries on a pair of shades in one tiny picture?” Kel wonders.

“I don’t think he needs to, he’ll just make it and then be delighted that actual fruit was there after,” Olwyn says.

Isabela tilts her head, more or less in agreement.

The first response ends up actually being Aunt Ana.

_You guys look so cute!_

_Is that the same building?_

_What happened to Ileth’s shirt?_

_Wait._

_!!!_

_You’re all dressed up in old clothes!_

They laugh. Isabela grins widest, and steals Olwyn’s phone for a minute so she can text her mamae back. A few more responses start coming in, then. Uncle Victory and Uncle Adannar do not, in fact, notice anything about the clothes. Aunt Serahlin gets it right away, and immediately demands a full-resolution copy of the photo from them. Uncle Tasallir and Uncle Aelynthi start up a debate about whether or not there are any anachronisms in the shot, as Uncle Tasallir insists that Kel’s vest didn’t come on trend – for a given value of said trend – until about five years after they graduated, while Uncle Aelynthi argues that they still  _existed_ before then, even if most people wouldn’t be caught dead in them.

Her parents don’t get the photo until a bit later than everyone else – she tries not to think about what they might have been doing, together, that would keep them from checking their messages – but when they do Nanae compliments them on a clever concept, and Papae, like Aunt Serahlin, wants a full copy.

Kel really likes the photo, but she also hopes it’s not blown up over the mantle or anything the next time she goes home.

Uncle Dirthamen is the second-to-last to get the update, as the twins have decided that they want to surprise Aunt Selene with a physical copy, in person. He comes down on Aelynthi’s side of the anachronism debate, and then kind of trips her out by pointing out that Kel’s Nanae could have easily made the vest for her, in a universe where they were both the same age and presumably on friendly terms.

And then after that, their parents start sending them other photos that were taken in places that have the best possibility of looking the same twenty odd years later. They make some loose plans to maybe find a few more outfits, and carry on with the idea, before half of them have to get to a class, and they finally break off into their own separate corners of the universe again.

Olwyn bumps her shoulder.

“You should go with the guys,” she suggests. “Then you can give Pride that fuzzy white scarf you got him.”

Kel blinks, and then shuffles a little.

“I’m in skinny jeans and a tie-dye vest,” she replies.

“I know. You look unfairly fantastic,” Olwyn informs her.

“And I didn’t bring the scarf,” she adds.

Her cousin just grins, and pulls it out of her purse. Which Kel swears she’s enchanted somehow, because it seriously should not be big enough to hold all the stuff she crams into it. She figured out the Mary Poppins secret, somehow. Cracked the code.

Kel accepts the scarf from her, though, and then lets out a breath.

“It might be weird,” she says.

Olwyn shrugs.

“What’s weird? You saw it, you thought of him. It’s not like you expect him to fall into your arms saying ‘take me now’ once you give it to him, right?”

Well, no.

Not that she’d  _complain,_  but… no.

“I guess…” she dithers.

The guys are leaving.

She glances at her cousin, and figures… well. She  _does_  like him. And she did think of him. She wraps the scarf absently around her left wrist, and takes off after Ileth and the twins, stealing a ride with them as they carry on talking about photos and clothes and how many near-anachronistic things they could maybe sneak into photos to drive Uncle Tasallir up the wall.

Felasel glances back at her.

“You know, there’s a girl in one of my vapid classes,” he says. “She has a lot of freckles, and is very unabashedly gay.”

“Nice,” Kel replies.

“I was thinking I might invite her to the next party we have,” he carries on.

She blinks.

“Do lesbians go to a lot of fraternity parties?” she wonders.

Felasel hesitates, his brow furrowing.

“Possibly not,” he allows.

“Oh no,” Ileth says. “Uncle Tasallir just called your vest  _tacky.”_

Kel blinks.

“It is,” she agrees.

“Yeah, but your papae’s on,” he elaborates, and she leans over, and winces at the absolute wall of angry emojis and exclamation marks filling up his screen; even as she feels a sudden rush of fondness. Papae seems to be trying to make a case that tie-dye is  _cheerful_ and  _fun,_ which, he declares, are concepts Uncle Tasallir struggles with.

_It is a blight on good taste,_  Uncle Tasallir declares.

_Your taste is the oatmeal of fashion,_  Papae counters.

_I’m sure you’re not talking about **Tasallir’s**  taste,_ Aunt Serahlin interjects, and Kel and Ileth both inhale sharply at the same time.

Ileth glances at her, and then turns off his phone.

“And then they all apologized and the argument ended!” he declares.

She sighs.

“Thanks for not making me watch my father get roasted,” she replies.

“I’m sure he did fine,” Ileth argues, surreptitiously checking a few times and wincing as they make it back to the frat house. He motions at them to go on ahead as Darevas parks the car, and the twins linger for a minute by the front gate, debating whether or not they should go find a good frame for their photo for Aunt Selene and getting distracted, as Kel goes on ahead to the front door. Darevas tosses her the keys.

She feels the oddest tremor of unease as she turns the lock, and presses the hand open with her scarf-clad hand.

“Kel-!” Felasel shouts.

And then the door explodes.

~

Kel sees white. The white of the scarf wrapped around her hand. The white of something very hot, igniting very fast behind the wood of the door. Bright enough that it seems to outline the keyhole in a moment of crisp and almost beautiful clarity.

And then she sees green. Shining, crackling, flaring into existence around her two seconds before everything erupts into fire and pain and a thousand knives lance up her forearm, the shards of the door burning like glittering dust to match the shattered glass, as the front windows blow out. Then it’s just like someone hits a switch, and everything goes dark.

For a long time, it’s just dark. Dark and like she’s floating, a little bit, just drifting above a slow, steady rhythm that she eventually recognizes is a heartbeat. K-thud. K-thud.

Who’s heartbeat?

The darkness bleeds away in specks and spots. Blurry shafts of light that slowly draw her out of the fog, and into the heavy weight of wakefulness again. Cream coloured walls, and something whirring gently somewhere. Everything feels numb, but when she opens her mouth she can taste an odd, sour grit on her tongue, and when she draws in a deep breath she can feel the slight strain of her chest expanding. Her jaw doesn’t want to work; her tongue struggles to swallow, and at first she can’t even remember what happened. Where she might be, or why.

What was she doing before?

She remembers… they took a photo. And then she went to go to the frat house with the guys, and then…

Blank.

Her brow knits a little bit, and she turns her head.

Aunt Selene is sitting next to her. Slumped over, staring off over at something else. Kel follows her gaze, and hears fabric shift a little. What’s she looking at? But then there’s a sharp inhalation, and a hand against her forehead. Brushing her cheek, as she blinks and looks back at her aunt. Who is red-eyed but smiling, and saying something.

It seems to take years for the words to reach her.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she says. “You’re awake.”

Kel wants to quip that she can usually tell the difference, her dreams have never been terribly elaborate. But her tongue’s still not cooperating, and a weird, itching discomfort is starting to gnaw up underneath the numbness that’s fallen on her. What’s happened? Is everyone okay?

She doesn’t quite manage to ask, but her aunt answers anyway.

“It’s okay,” she says. “You were in – there was an incident. We’re still looking into what caused it, exactly, but you were in an explosion. The fraternity house was damaged, but nobody else got hurt. The twins were there, and they were  _right there_  but they. Um. That was a good thing, because they managed to get some barriers up, and call an ambulance right away. Do you understand me, Kel?”

She swallows, and almost nods before she figures out that that’s not a good idea.

“Everyone’s okay?” she manages.

“You were the only who got hurt,” Aunt Selene tells her, again. And there’s something about the way she’s saying it that’s making little red flags go up. But Kel can’t really figure it out right now.

“Izza house okay?” she tries, fumbling her way through an internal checklist of factors. For a second she can’t really picture the fraternity house, though. She keeps thinking of  _her_  house, of the one in Arlathan, and her parents and sisters, and the housekeeper, and all the animals living in the garden.

“It got damaged,” Aunt Selene tells her. “But not as badly as it could have been. The guys are all staying at a hotel, for now, though, while the investigation’s happening.”

Kel frowns, as the information all gets a little bit jumbled. Why can’t she think straight? It’s like she’s still only half awake. Guys and houses.

“Papae?” she tries.

Aunt Selene squeezes her shoulder.

“Your parents are coming,” she says. “They got the first flight over, they should be here soon. Kel. You have to know, you’re going to be okay. But your left arm was very badly damaged. Don’t, no, don’t look yet.” One of her hands comes up, and catches Kel’s cheek, stopping it from turning. “Just listen to me for right now. Your left hand was closest to the trigger for the blast, and when the twins brought up their barriers, they couldn’t really get one between it and the explosion. There wasn’t… there wasn’t enough left of it for the doctors to save. And that’s going to take some coming to terms with, but you don’t have to handle it all right now. You can just take a few breaths, and lie here, okay? You take your time, you’re on a lot of painkillers right now so it’s probably all pretty hard to process anyway.”

Kel swallows, as the words make their sluggish way through. She hears them. She gets them. But they seem somehow more bizarre and surreal than anything so far, and so when Aunt Selene lets go of her cheek, she turns her head, and looks at her left arm.

Bicep.

Bandage.

And a disconcerting lack of continuation.

The bandage is bulky enough, that some part of her brain insists that her hand much be in there – just really crammed in, for some reason. She tries to flex it, to strain against the bandages, and the growing discomfort and unease in her ratchets up immensely as  _nothing_ happens. As the strange perception that she must be uncomfortably crammed inside of the bandage crashes against her utter inability to produce any real sensation, and it’s one of the weirdest, worst feelings in the world, like she’s developed a horrifying cramp in muscles that don’t exist, and the echoes of it decide to make up the difference by chewing their way through the rest of her drugged, disoriented body.

“…Ow,” she says.

And then Aunt Selene’s arms are around her, firm and solid, and she turns her head back towards her shoulder, hugging the tops of her arms tight enough that she doesn’t even try to move them.

“I got you,” her aunt promises. “I got you, Kel, it’s going to be okay.”

She squeezes her eyes shut tight, and nausea decides to come up in the wake of her disoriented pain.

Her hand is gone.

Her… her  _hand_  is gone.

“Why did…?” she begins, swallowing, and then wonders if she should warn her aunt that she’s going to throw up.  _Is_  she going to throw up? She’s not even sure. She swallows again, and after a few minutes, closes her eyes and just tries to focus on what’s real. The fabric of her aunt’s shirt against her cheek, and the blankets pressing down on her legs, and her heart, still thumping in her chest.

“We don’t know who did it,” her aunt admits, letting out a long breath. She’s very warm. “But they probably weren’t angling to hurt you. Our best guess is that someone was… going after the twins, or possibly Pride. Or all of them.”

Oh.

That makes sense.

Not that it’s terribly relieving, though.

“Where are they?” she asks. “Are they safe?”

“Safe as can be,” her aunt promises her. “You don’t worry about that, we’re taking care of it. You’ve got enough to deal with. There’s a list a mile long of people who want to see you, but you don’t have to see anyone until you feel ready. I can have one of the doctors come in and talk to you, though, any time you want more information on what’s happened.”

That’s probably a good idea, she thinks. She should know. That’s the responsible thing, anyway. To know what’s happened to her. To know what’s going on with her own body. Some part of her really wants to, to hear the particulars. But it all seems too big, too. Huge and looming, like a mountain, and she’s still too out of it to start climbing.

“Later?” she asks.

“Later,” Aunt Selene agrees. “Later’s not a problem.”

She helps Kel settle back against her pillows, then, and goes and gets her some water to drink. Kel stares, feeling numb through and through for a while. But it’s almost welcome, really. Her thoughts are odd and disjointed. She wonders if the twins managed to give their aunt the photo they made. She realizes that picture was the last one she’ll ever take with both hands. She wonders if she should get a hook, so she and Maibrit and Isabela can make off-colour pirate jokes. She wonders how hard it’s going to be to do everything one-handed, and then her insides feel like they’re twisting themselves up, as she tries to think that at least it was her left and not her right. But the attempt at optimism doesn’t really land.

And then she drifts off to sleep again, and when she wakes up, she forgets for half a minute. Going through almost the same motions of seeing her aunt, and trying to figure out what just happened – but it comes back on its own, after a few minutes. And then she gets to feel all of it all over again. The same awful wrench, as she tries to flex a hand that isn’t there. The same lurching disorientation, and dread, and unease.

She actually does throw up that time.

Aunt Selene holds the basin for her, and rubs the back of her neck.

Not long after that, some men in suits come by and try to get in the room. Aunt Selene smiles and tells Kel to sip her water, and then turns and goes and gets rid of them, hissing her through her teeth that no one is signing anything and that if she sees them here again, she’ll sue the pants off of Elgar’nan herself. Kel blinks, and does sip her water, and then stares fixedly at her left arm for a while. Just trying to… she doesn’t even know. Make sense of it, almost. Bicep. Forearm. Blanket.

She’s still trying to make sense of it when her parents arrive.

Her papae gets in the room first, and he looks at her. His eyes glancing over the arm she’d been staring at, seeing the same thing. But then he takes a few big strides, and he wraps his arms around her; and something in Kel just unravels, winding back to when she was small enough that leaning against her father’s shoulder made it feel like nothing bad could ever happen to her. She clutches him with the hand she still has, shaking, as he holds her back.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay. Shhh, da’vhenan. We’re here.”

She blinks, and sees past his shoulder. To where her Nanae is standing, and staring at them both. Lingering for a moment, until they stride over to her other side, and then she closes her eyes as they both hold her. Hearing heartbeats and warmth and it  _helps,_  even if it doesn’t exactly grow her hand back. Her parents are here. Whatever happens, they’ll help her. Nanae promises her this, whispering it against the top of her head, until the awful sobs that are wrenching out of her start to slow down, and it finally feels like she’s actually starting to wake up for the first time since she woke up.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admits.

“Just breathe, baby,” Nanae tells her, as she leans her forehead against her father’s chest. “We’ll just do everything one thing at a time.”

She closes her eyes, and takes their advice.


	14. Fallout

Selene is still halfway through her explanation when the roaring in Uthvir’s head overtakes the sound of her voice.

The phone dies.

The lights short out.

They’re left sitting in their darkened study, just listening to the roar; and then they are moving. There are no whispers. No push or pull. Just moving, silently, stepping out of their office and into the hall. Making their way down it. Thenvunin and the girls are in the kitchen, preparing food. They hear Thenvunin commenting on the power outage, tsk’ing and wondering about blown fuses, as Virevas complains that she can’t see her drawing.

Uthvir comes into the room and picks her up, first. Thenvunin hesitates. Eda does, too, her eyes going wide as she looks at them.

“We have to go,” Uthvir hears themselves say.

They have to go. They have to go. Where is safe? They carry Virevas and Thenvunin and Eda follow. Thenvunin asks them questions. Growing more and more concerned, as they pass the elevator and make their way to the stairwell. Virevas presses at them, asking, too, but it doesn’t matter. They’re going.

But Thenvunin stops following them, at the stairs. Eda does, as well. They both halt, and Thenvunin says something, and then Eda says something. Virevas is clinging to them, and they hear her voice, tiny, in their ears.

_Nanae, it’s too dark._

The stairwell is pitch black.

Thenvunin’s hand closes around their arm, and they turn and see his eyes. Brow furrowed with concern. Mouth tight. He is shaking. Or, no - they are. They are shaking, in his grasp, and there  _is_  a whisper, but it sounds like Selene’s voice. It sounds like  _there was an explosion at the school_  and  _Kel’s been hurt._

_Kel is dead. Our baby’s dead. Everyone is dead._

_I can’t… I can’t…_

Their breath comes in short, and everything is flickering. They are going to lose it. They have already lost it. They are going to hurt their family, no, they need… they cannot…  _don’t you dare…_

Eda reaches over, and closes a hand around their wrist. And something prods against their disjointed awareness, as a feeling tries to force its way in. Feeling more than horror, and terror; feeling that lets them climb and climb, until they are struggling to breathe, but it is enough for them to realize the massive wall that Fear has buried them behind. Enough for them to push through, again, to hear the ringing in their own ears, and feel the knife of sorrow and  _pain_  lance clean through them.

Sorrow pushes against Fear, and gains a winning foothold with them. 

_Kel is dead._

Their knees give out.

They thrust Virevas into her father’s arms before they hit the floor, voices calling at them, Eda still gripping them with her expression wrenched in concern.  _Something’s wrong, something’s wrong with Fear, Nana ‘Vir’s lost control, what happened, what happened…?_

Thenvunin and Virevas are speaking, but they cannot hear it so well as the voices of their fears, in turn. Burning through them until they cannot tell whose is what.

_Something is wrong._

_Nanae._

_Something is **wrong**._

They suck in a breath, and fight for control. For breaths. As Thenvunin puts down Virevas and pulls out his phone  _they’re hurt what happened do I call an ambulance or send for another mage what’s happening to them_  and then it rings. The lights are flickering. The lights are flickering, but Thenvunin’s phone works, and Uthvir hears Selene’s voice, again. Slipping, slinking through as they wrestle with Fear.

_No, no…_

Virevas is close, again. In their arms, again. Scared because she does not know what is going on. Scared as Thenvunin says something, voice drifting through water, and then puts his phone away again. All of it swimming, blinking, faltering. Black claws and whispers and they should have  _never_  let her go so far, they should never let any of them go so far, ever again, they must get them safe, must get them…

Must…

Thenvunin’s hands are on their cheeks.

“Vhenan,” he says. His voice sounds like it is coming through a tunnel. “You must not listen to it. We have to go to Kel, alright? And we cannot do that if you are possessed. It cannot help. We need to get to her.”

He is pale, and his eyes are shining, and he is  _afraid._

But.

_We have to get to Kel._

There was an explosion. Kel was in an explosion. They are  _afraid_  that she is dead, but they do not know it. She is hurt. She is hurt, and she needs them, and if they go to pieces then perhaps they will not be able to get to her in time. Perhaps she  _will_  die.

Uthvir lets out a breath, and their fear sharpens to a knife-point of terrified purpose.

The lights come properly back on.

Thenvunin falters, and they reach out; and somehow try to grasp their whole family on the precipice of the stairwell.

_Need more arms._

No.

What they need, now, is a flight to Ferelden.

 

~

 

_This is probably the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,_  Kel thinks, at one point, as she stares at where her hand used to be.

She’s got the vague notion that she’s had that thought, before, maybe a couple of times over the course of her life.

But it’s oddly helpful. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to her, and it’s  _bad_ , it’s not a picnic and she really, really wants her hand back. But on balance, she thinks, maybe if it can also be the worst thing that  _ever_  happens to her, then at least she’s set. Good to go. This is awful, but, the world hasn’t actually ended.

She lets out a breath, and Maibrit holds out her phone.

“Robot hand,” her friend declares. “You can do Luke Skywalker impressions. Wear a black glove over it and then take it off at parties to delight children.”

“Did Luke do that?” she asks, frowning a little as she tries to remember if that was in any of the movies.

“I don’t know if they showed but I’m one thousand percent sure he did.”

The photo on the phone is interesting, though. Mechanical bones and finger joints, gleaming but not quite so cold-looking as she might expect. Although, that makes sense. As cool as it might look in science fiction movies, Kel doesn’t think it would be all that great an idea to have ice cold and very hard metal pressed up against her flesh all the time.

“…It’s going to be hard,” she says. And she thinks the thought started out being connected to all those thoughts, about metal and things, but how it comes out feels a lot truer to how she’s feeling. Nobody’s being cold about it, but even her papae, who normally sugar coats things, had sat with her and held her hand – the only one, now – and told her in all seriousness that it wouldn’t be. That she can do it and he’ll be right there helping, but that adjusting is not going to be easy, no.

Maibrit doesn’t really miss a beat, though.

“It’s gonna suck,” she says, pulling back her phone. Kel looks at her ruby eye, and after a moment, her friend takes it out, and tosses it up into the air.

“I still get headaches,” she admits.

They’re quiet, for a long few minutes. Not uncomfortable minutes, though. It doesn’t feel like either of them are struggling to find something to say, or explain. It’s more like the kind of silence that comes when you  _know_  there’s nothing that really will.

So it’s better just to be.

“How’s your wrist?” Maibrit eventually asks, nodding towards her bandages. The skin’s sealed over, now, and she’s got another healing session this afternoon. Mostly the nurses are just keeping it covered because looking at it still unnerves her worse than seeing the blank, white cotton came to an unexpected halt.

“Weird,” she says.

Maibrit nods, and then puts her ruby back in.

“You should get a prosthetic that’s just designed for holding a sword,” she declares. “Then when you do your re-enactment fighting can use it, and people will think ‘well, she’s good, but she’s not  _that_  good’ but then halfway through the fight, when you start to lose, you can go Full Inigo and switch out and be like ‘I am not left-handed – I don’t have  _have_  a left hand’ and it’ll be a trip and a half.”

Kel snorts.

But… that does actually sound like it would be fun.

 

~

 

Olwyn blames herself for Lavellan’s accident, it’s obvious to anyone who knows her. Maibrit comes downstairs to the house kitchen to grab one of her energy drinks from the fridge just as the front door opens and Olwyn walks inside, looking haggard and worn.

Maibrit glances at the clock on the wall. 4:23 am.

“Usually I’m the only person up at this hour,” Maibrit chirps, “Did you go out to debate dark hole thermodynamics with that weird jogger who runs down our street at ungodly hours? I thought I was the only one, but he always seems to run faster when I start yelling at him.”

Olwyn looks up, like she’s just noticed Maibrit, and her shoulders slump. Her normal gentle visage cracks, as her lip trembles. She’s going to cry. Maibrit hasn’t seen Olwyn cry in  _years_.

“Hey,” Maibrit leans on the counter, “She’s ok. It isn’t the end of the world.” She wonders…was this how Olwyn reacted when Maibrit got in her car accident in highschool? Did she and Kel and the others feel their stomach twist in knots, and find themselves up at 4am unable to sleep? Insomnia is normal for Maibrit, but the other parts, the anxious feelings and the helplessness, those are new. And unwelcome. “It’s a hand. She can live without a hand. It’s gonna suck, but we’ll make her something super cool. Now she can wear a hook and come with Isabela and me as pirates for Halloween. We need a third crew member now that Grandma Faunalyn isn’t here with her peg leg.”

Olwyn snorts, but the chuckle turns into a sniffle and she hurriedly moves past Maibrit to start some coffee. Her hands are shaking. “…it’s my fault.” She begins searching through the cupboard for her mug, and Maibrit hears the clink of the cups against one another as she fumbles.

“Yeah, because you planted the bomb, right?”

“I told her to go over and give that stupid scarf to Pride!” Olwyn slams her cup down on the counter, and the sound echoes.

Maibrit waits for the noise to stop, and taps the edge of her drink can. Olwyn doesn’t get angry often. She’s the type to talk things out, and not keep them bottled inside. But the person she talks these things out with is Kel, and Kel is sitting in a hospital room right now.

“And if it hadn’t been Kel that opened the door it would have been someone else, and they would have gotten injured too, maybe even worse. Shit happens, Ollie.  _You_  didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But what if  _Kel_  thinks it’s my fault?” Olwyn whispers brokenly.

“Hey, hey,” Maibrit leans over and presses her can against Olwyn’s forehead. The cool metal jolts the other girl out of her stupor long enough to meet Maibrit’s eyes. “Are you an idiot? That’s like me blaming Felasel and Darevas for my eye.”

Olwyn frowns, “You  _did_  blame them.”

“No, I guilted them into giving me all their cookies.” Maibrit answers back readily, “Do you know what it takes to get Felasel to give up his cookies? It takes getting your eye cut out.”

Olwyn lets out a shaky breath and slumps against the counter. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Did you tell Kel that?”

“I don’t know what to say to her  _at all_. All that I want to do is apologize and I know that will just make her feel worse. Because she’ll think it’s her fault that I’m crying and…and what am I going to do with that  _stupid picture_?”

“Picture—oh.” Maibrit swallows. That picture of all of them in their parents’ old clothes. The last picture of Kel with both hands. A picture that was supposed to be a great school memory that none of them will be able to look at anymore without guilt. “Ollie…you need to sleep.”

“I know.”

“You have class in three hours.” Maibrit wonders how long it’s been since Olwyn’s even slept in her bed. When she isn’t at class she’s at the hospital with Thenvunin or Uthvir. 

“I  _know_.”

“And it isn’t your fault.”

“I…” Olwyn swallows. “…I know.” She shakes her head. “Thanks. Tomorrow I think I’ll call Compassion. She said she knew a therapist here that I might like, but I’d like…I’d like to talk to her.”

Maibrit nods. “There you go.”

“I just…I feel so terrible going to her with my problems when Kel’s are so much worse.”

“Hey, they aren’t worse. They’re  _different_.” Maibrit puts in. “It doesn’t mean you can’t feel horrible just because you didn’t lose a hand. It isn’t a competition on whose life sucks more because if we’re pulling out receipts on shitty childhood incidents, we’re going to be here a while, and I’ll need to call in Felasel and Darevas and Isabela and Illeth, oh and skype the rugrats back home.”

Olwyn cracks another smile that fades too quickly. But it was there. That’s what matters. Maibrit grabs Olwyn’s coffee cup and pulls it away. “Go to bed, I’m the only one that should be up right now.”

Olwyn frowns, worry furrowing her brow, “You should be sleeping too. It isn’t healthy to keep drinking those, you know.” The best way to keep Olwyn from dwelling on things is to make her worry about something else. And Olwyn isn’t the type to wallow in the first place, especially when there are others she needs to be comforting. Maybe that’s why it’s throwing Maibrit off so much. 

“I’ve got some notes I want to go over,” Maibrit shrugs, “I’ll go to bed after that. My first class isn’t till two.”

Olwyn sends her a disbelieving look, and it takes ten or so more minutes before Maibrit manages to get her upstairs. When she’s finally alone in the kitchen again, she resumes tapping on her energy drink can.

It  _isn’t_  Olwyn’s fault…but as her stomach churns and she swallows down a wave of nausea, she thinks about who it could be.

_Her grandmother is in her office, when Maibrit finally shoves past her secretary and throws the door open. Her grandmother glances up with a frown, “You are interrupting me.”_

_Maibrit swallows. Her eye is throbbing, but she tries to push the pain down. She can’t think about that right now. The pain is making her angrier than she’d like though, which she thinks is the only reason she’s barging in uninvited. And the things she sees, flitting out of the corners of her vision even though the bandage wrapped around half her head are…unsettling. It’s driving her crazy._

_And any time she closes her eyes, all she can see is the red splatter on the windowshield as Thorley slumps forward, and the screeching of tires. “I nearly died because of what happened, and now I’ve got some all seeing eye stuck in my skull. I think I deserve to know why.”_

_There is a long pause, and for a moment she thinks her grandmother is going to dismiss her, or call in one of her guards to remove Maibrit from the room._

_“It was a lyrium dispute.” Her grandmother answers finally. “A trifle, really. We refused to give them an extra shipment that they requested.” And then she goes back to the files she was perusing before the interruption. As if the discussion is closed._

_Of course. A trifle. A trifle almost killed her. A trifle caused the Evanuris family to put a hit out on her mother. A_ trifle _._

_“…and did you give them the lyrium?”_

_“Oh yes,” Her grandmother does not look up from her files. “I packaged it all quite nicely and sent it post haste. Nothing to worry about.”_

_Maibrit wonders which personal employees of the Evanuris her grandmother has butchered and stuffed with lyrium._

_“Some of my friends—”_

_“None of them here harmed.” Her grandmother drawls, “We do not hurt children, unlike the Evanuris.”_

That _, Maibrit thinks, as her eye aches,_ is a lie.

She downs half of the energy drink before she pulls out her phone and dials a number. She doesn’t keep numbers saved in her phone, but she recalls it from memory easily enough, and leans against the counter and listens to it ring.

She does the mental calculation for what time it is in Arlathan. He should be awake…

There’s an odd shuffling sound, as the person on the other end picks up, and then a low, calm voice answers, “Mistress Maibrit?”

Just the sound of it helps her relax. “Hey Arisas.” She hears muffled typing, and wonders if she’s caught him at the office. “How’s it going?”

“Your parents are well. Your grandmother too.”

“Of course she is. The old nug is going to outlive everyone,” Maibrit mutters, and smiles a bit at Arisas’ soft chuckle. “Hey um…I need you to look into something.”

There is a pause. “It isn’t like you to want help from the family.”

Yeah, Maibrit knows that. And she knows fully well that she isn’t going to get this for free. Even if Arisas wants to tell her, her grandmother will find out somehow, and demand some compensation. “It’s important.”

“Is it about the incident at the fraternity house on campus?”

“Arisas,” Maibrit leans back, “I need you to tell me, honestly…was the family involved?”

“Despite your grandmother’s dislike of Mythal Evanuris, she has not directly attacked anyone within the family since before your birth—”

“Was the family  _involved_ , Arisas?”

She hangs up a few moments later, ears still ringing.

_Shit_.


	15. Chantilly

Felasel does not like physical affection. Cirimeni knows this very well. It does not bother her, not when she knows that his love shows itself in other ways. Cirimeni cannot say “I love you” in words. So she says it with her eyes, and a smile, and tentative movements of her fingers because she  _knows_  that he knows what it means.

Felasel says “I love you” with a new pair of boots when the first snowfall hits because Cirimeni does not own anything other than sandals, with a text asking if she made it home safely from a late study session, with an unspoken understanding as he takes a bite of her food when the server places it on the table.

But there are times when Cirimeni sees Miriel thread her fingers through Darevas’ own, and she looks down at her hand, and  _wants_. But she pushes it aside. It is not a need. She wears the gloves he gives her and imagines them as a hand wrapped around her own. It is his love that matters, and she knows that he loves her.

The first night they sleep together, she is nervous. Will it be alright? Will he still love her afterwards? Will he want her to leave when it is done?

He glances at her hand, and slowly grasps it in his own. His fingers are shaking. He is trembling, from nervousness, from the weight of this between them, in a way she had not expected.

She looks up into his gaze, and smiles.

“I love you” is not three words uttered into the silence for them. It is a smile, and a look, and trembling hands.

 

~

 

Some days are hard.

There are demons in his sleep that Cirimeni can’t chase away. She’s not a mage, she can’t fight them with him, can’t use magic to drive the spirits from his dreams not matter how much she wishes to.

And not all demons have names, she knows. Inner demons of his own making swirl about in his head and she wants to reach inside and take them out, to ball them up into tiny little things and throw them away.

She can’t, though. She can’t, and it hurts, because he’s done so much for her. All she wants to do is make him feel as warm and loved and safe as she does when she’s with him.

Some nights she wakes to a body draped over her own, to soft whispered nonsense against her neck, and sometimes she hears ‘don’t leave me’ hanging in the silence and she pats his hair, and wishes she had a voice to offer him reassurances back; to hum a lullaby like her mother would do for her, when nightmares awoke her in the middle of the night.

All she can do is be there, and smile at him when he opens his eyes in the morning, and grab his hand in her own to give it a gentle squeeze.

_I’m here_ , she tries to say into the silence.  _Don’t worry. I’m here._


	16. Baked Goods

Ileth walks into the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible so as to not rouse any of his brothers. It’s late, not all of them have a test in Barrier Magic Application the next day and normally he would just stay in his room, but he really wants milk with his cereal. 

He slinks through the house, hand glowing with only a bit of guiding light to lead him to the fridge and then to the cupboard where the bowls are. 

He reaches up, pulls one down and sets to fixing himself a bowl of Fruity Pebbles. In the dark. Alone. 

Yeah. 

He’s leaning against the counter, eating his snack in silence and darkness when suddenly it isn’t dark anymore.

He flinches and slowly blinks to adjust to the light. 

“Why are you eating cereal in the dark?” Felasel asks as Ileth’s eyes adjust properly. He looks down at the cereal and then at the Fruity Pebbles and then at Felasel.

“Because I’m hungry.”

Felasel stares at him for a moment before looking at the Fruity Pebbles.

“I didn’t know we had Fruity Pebbles.”

Ileth pauses.

“We…don’t. Please don’t tell the other bros about it? They’ll disappear within the hour.” He’s used to sharing food, he doesn’t even mind it, he just..wants his cereal is all. It’s  _his_  cereal. Not Tonlen’s, or Asarla’s, or Kel’s, or Isabela’s (one of the biggest cereal thieves known to man), or Darevas’s…but Felasel is nice about this stuff. He doesn’t steal cereal. But he know how to get it if he wants.

Ileth sighs and pulls down another bowl.

“I’ll give you a bowl if you don’t tell the others.”

“Deal.”

 

~

 

Ileth likes to bake. It relieves stress and the guys like it, particularly Felasel and Darevas who know by now that if Ileth’s baking, they should be in the kitchen waiting and ready to fight over who’s going to lick the spoon and the bowl. 

But today is slightly different. Nehras sits beside the twins, watching him as he works the sliced apples and filling into the pie crust he just made.

Darevas angles himself to get the bowl, though Ileth doesn’t know why, the filling like this isn’t particularly appetizing. But he stays like that, wiggling and posed to take the bowl. Whatever, he’s more concerned about Nehras after all. They’ve only been on a couple of dates and while they’ve all gone well, with kissing and hand holding, generally having a wonderful time, but…. There is a certain amount of trepidation in the early stages of a relationship.

They laugh at something Felasel says and Ileth glances up, realizing he was lost in thought, worry, for a moment. 

But then they turn to him and smile. They hop off the bar stool and walk over to him, wrapping arms around him, leaning into him and nuzzling his shoulder with their nose. 

“Mm, you smell like cinnamon.”

Ileth blushes, “Nehras! In front of the twins?!”

“Get it, Ileth!” Darevas calls. Ileth’s blush intensifies and Nehras laughs, kissing his cheek. 

“I like watching you bake.”

“I’m not even baking yet! This is prep!” He squeaks. They kiss his ear this time before breaking off and grabbing the still fill bowl of filling and apples. 

“So, how deep am I filling this?” They ask and Ileth vaguely wonders if that’s an inuendo. 

 

~

 

The first batch burn, the second taste off, but the third - it is the third that is perfect. 

So perfect that he sees fit to first test it on Felasel, who seems to be having a rough day as it is. He sprinkles a little sugar on top and walks to Felasel’s room. The door is closed so he knocks softly.

“I bring sweets for testing,” he says and there is a shuffling on the other side before the door cracks open and an exhausted Felasel poked his head out. His eyes are red, his hair is a mess, and Ileth can feel the stressed aura of magic lingering around him. Ileth’s own brows com together in concern, he knows this look, this feeling well. 

He offers up the pastry. 

Felasel takes it, “Thank you.” And promptly closes the door. 

Hmm. This is going to take more than one cake. 

He heads back into the kitchen and piles up the entire batch of cakes - all dozen of them - douses them in powdered sugar and returns to Felasel’s room.

“I have more,” he says and the door opens with a snap of magic. His cousin is sitting crosslegged in a chair in the corner of the room. The plate’s in his hand and his eyes are a bit puffier than before. 

“They’re just like how Aunt Ana makes them,” Felasel says before nibbling on another piece of the cake. 

“Well, I have a whole batch that needs testing because consistency is important and your seal of approval is very important,” Ileth says, setting the tray down on his desk. He’s struck with a sudden idea and stands a little straighter.

“Wait right here,” he says before heading into his room and getting his spell-chalk. He crushes it in the mortar then pricks his thumb, dropping in a few droplets of blood, murmuring a small incantation of them. He mixes it and then throws in some nice smelling potpourri. He grabs another piece of chalk and a light before heading back into Felasel’s room. 

Felasel looks up from the tray of cakes at Ileth and then at the small bowl in Ileth’s hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Uncle Aelynthi’s been teaching me warding and normally blood magic and warding away demons doesn’t really work because demons essentially made blood magic with the interaction of mages.  _But_  while experimenting, uncle Aelynthi and I found that  _my_  blood is different. It seems that the whole ordeal with Envy has left me marked as undesirable or something by the demon community, so they stay away. This is a basic long-lasting ward, but it’s enhanced with my blood so I’m thinking, hopefully, it will create a better ‘no demon zone’ in here.” He quickly scribbles the ward, a small thing really, onto Felasel’s desk, out of the way of things, and then sets the bowl atop it. He crushes the spell chalk again, sprinkling it over the potpourri before flicking open the lighter and setting it ablaze. 

Ileth holds his hand over the flame and murmurs the same incantation again and soon there is a white glow emanating from the bowl and a small noise escapes Felasel.

“Better?” Ileth asks and Felasel’s eyes droop closed as he nods.

“Yes, thank you.” Felasel picks up another small cake and nibbles on it more readily, more like his normal self, and Ileth smiles. Baking and blood magic work wonders, he thinks as he watches Felasel practically devour the batch.

“They’re good, you should make more,” Felasel says and Ileth chuckles.

“I’ll do that.”

 

~

 

“I’ve got like two papers due next week, I can’t bake right now. There’s a cupcakery downtown if you’re really hankering for something,” Ileth protests, trying to focus on the words on his computer screen.

“But I need doughnuts,” Felasel continues to protest. Ileth lets out an exasperated breath.

“Why do you need doughnuts? What happened to the batch of snicker-doodles I made on Sunday?” Those should still be around, even with Felasel’s sweet tooth - there were twenty four of them, it’s only been three days.” 

Felasel shrugs, though, “Those went over very well, thank you, but now I need doughnuts. The Fruity Pebble ones with the strawberry icing.”

“You do know there is a gourmet doughnut shop about four blocks away from the cupcakery, right?”

“Yes, and yours are better.”

“As flattering as that is -

“They’re not for me.” Now  _that_  makes Ileth pause.  _Not_ for him? But then again, the last time he pulled that, he picked off the bit he didn’t want and gave it to Darevas (who ate it of course) and then claimed that since not all of it went to him, it could not be said they were for him exclusively. 

His eyes narrow, “Uh huh, right.” Felasel shifts for a moment, eyes behind his glasses darting just a tiny bit, and Ileth’s eyes widen this time. Whoa, he isn’t lying, these aren’t for him. 

Felasel doesn’t share sweets. He  _steals_  them (correction, he extorts them, but still), he doesn’t like letting go of his sweets so if he’s sharing….

Dammit.

Ileth leans forward and points at him, trying to muster up a stern face, “You’re helping me with my Advanced Magical Entropy paper, got it? Also, I’m out of Fruity Pebbles, you’re gonna have to settle for the Coco Puffs.” 

A small smile spreads across Felasel’s face as Ileth rises from his seat and goes to make the damn doughnuts.

“Deal.”

 

~

 

She tugs on her bra strap and pops her gum as she adjusts the girls back to their proper places. Someone scoffs at the crass gesture and she rolls her eyes.

“You try living with double D’s, asshole,” she says quickly before grabbing her bag and heading off to class. Really, what is everyone’s preoccupation with telling people how to handle their bodies? She has boobs, big ones, and bra straps  _move_ , a girl  _has_  to do something otherwise blisters become a thing. Fucking blisters. 

She shoves a hand into her hair and fluffs it out. She groans at the hair crunches slightly and she curses the cheap conditioner she got the other night at the grocery store because the beauty supplies store had closed. It didn’t wash out completely and now her curls are crunchy. Crunchy curls. Gross.

Katra bops over to Advanced Barrier Construction and Theories, distantly wondering if she’ll see that hot guy again on her way over there. The one who works the coffee cart and doesn’t even smile for customers. Except for that one time when she told some dickish looking guy off after he gave the hot guy a hard time about the heart puncher triple shot. 

Still, Hot Guy doesn’t smile a lot and he wears a leather jacket even in Ferelden’s warmer months, which could just mean he’s from some hotter place but it could also indicate someone taking dedication to an aesthetic to another level. Hot Guy is hot in his leather jacket by a cranky espresso machine that grumbles, gurgles, and otherwise harasses all passerby with unnecessary noise. 

She sidles up to the cart and crosses her arms under her boobs, pushing them up just enough to be just a tad lewd. Or a lot lewd depending on how frequently you sing the Chant of Light. 

Hot Guy looks up from the cash register and his mouth twitches. 

“Let me guess, mocha with an extra shot?” He says, already engaging the machines to start her order. She grins.

“Oh you know me so well.”

“You come here every day.”

“I know, it’s scandalous, what will your girlfriend think?” She teases and he chuckles, actually chuckles! But his face is hidden by the giant steam machine. The smile alludes her still!

“She won’t seeing as I don’t have one.” 

“Oh then your boyfriend or your signif,” she leads and he looks at her from over the machine, large sexy green eyes watching her as he lifts a dark eyebrow.

“None of those, either.” 

“Oh? No one to keep you warm at night or do you just wear that jacket to bed?” 

“I actually sleep by the espresso machine since it refuses to shut off.” He teases back and she barks out a laugh.

“What an unpleasant bedfellow to have, so cranky and hard.” 

He comes around the front of the cart and she grabs a brownie before handing him a wad of bills that he sighs and sorts through. 

“Keep the change,” she says, taking her coffee, “and if you ever want a soft and still warm bedfellow who won’t spray you with espresso, hit me up.” She winks at him and turns away heading to class. She makes it to the door before realizing that Hot Guy doesn’t have an actual way to hit her up. No number or anything. 

Well, shit.

She’ll do better tomorrow, slide over her number real smooth like. She should wear a push-up tomorrow…and maybe some spanx or that booty magic thing that Isabela suggested. 

Katra walks into class and plops down next to Fancy Pants Felasel and drops the brownie in front of him.

“I got news, Fancy Pants.”

He quickly unwraps the sweet and picks a piece off to nibble on, “I still don’t understand why you insist on calling me that.”

“Cuz you got fancy pants. Now you want the news or not?” 

“Yes.”

“So Hot Guy with all the tatts and frowns? White hair, dark green eyes that make you think of forests and moss and wet mornings -

“I’m familiar, yes.”

“Doesn’t have a girlfriend! Or boyfriend or signif, your mute girl’s not attached,” Katra says and takes a sip of her coffee as she watches Felasel’s face slowly transform from slight annoyance to something resembling pleasant contemplation.

“Her name is Cirimeni.”

“You liiiike her,” Katra sings and he gives her a strange look.

“I am not the one waxing on poetically about the color of her eyes.”

“No, but you’re thinking about them all the same,” she counters and he’s about to respond but the professor begins to lecture and his attention is drawn to the front as she demonstrates a bi-layer scintillating barrier. Katra snickers and begins to take notes herself. 

 

~

 

“I’m thinking about getting a motorcycle,” Katra muses as she leans over the counter of the coffee cart.

Hot Guy, or rather, Fenris, glances over at her from his station at the steamer. 

“You’re not a motorcycle person,” he says in that rich, low voice of his that has her wishing he was reading dirty poetry to her instead.

“Excuse me, but I am  _so_  a motorcycle person. I’m a boss ass bitch, I can ride,” she says, winking at the end for emphasis because ya’know. She thinks she sees a muscle twitch at the edge of his lips that if he were any other person would turn into a smile. 

“I am sure you are quite adept, but my argument remains - you are not a motorcycle person.”

“Well, we can’t all rock leather like you,” she quips.

“You seem to be taken with the jacket,” he drawls. She smirks and bites her lip, quirking her brow at him.

“Hmm, is it the jacket or the man inside of the jacket?” 

His hand suddenly grips the lever on the machine a bit tighter as a bright blush spreads across his cheeks. Her smirk turns into a grin as she leans back and cocks her hip just a bit. She watches his eyes flicker down to the dramatic curve of her hip and back up to her eyes, blush deepening.

He coughs a bit and turns back to the machine, a smile finally tugging at his lips.

“You are too kind, Katra.”

“What can I say? I have a weakness for gorgeous baristas who caffeinate me.” 

He finishes her mocha and holds his hand out for her money. She grabs a chocolate croissant and hands him the necessary money. The coins clink together as she tosses a few into the tip jar.

“You cannot do that,” he says.

“What? Why not? You performed an excellent service.”

“You flirted with me.” He grits out, staring at the money in the bin. She cocks her head to the side.

“Well, yes. But I do that because I like to flirt with you, I can stop if you’d like. I tip you because you make a damn good coffee. Two separate things, I also tip Greg up on the second floor of the library, but I don’t flirt with him, not my type.” Greg’s a nice enough guy, but he makes off-kilter poultry jokes every time she’s over there, and while his white mochas are to die for, his humor is unfortunately not. Fenris, on the other hand…

He stares at the change in the bin and sighs, “Fine.”

“Fine what? Take the tip back? Leave the tip? Stop flirting?” She holds her arms out. While she’d hate to stop their little flirting game, she’d do it if it makes him uncomfortable.

His lips purse as he folds his arms across his chest, “Leave the tip, and…you do not have to stop.” 

He’s absolutely adorable, she thinks, with his floppy white hair that’s half disguising his face but not doing nearly a good enough job to hide that blush. She winks at him.

“Perfect,” and she turns from the cart and heads to class, wearing a wide grin as she tosses Fancy Pants his mid-afternoon sugar hit. 

“Are you ready for the test?” He asks and her smile falters.

“ _Shit_.”

 

~

 

Rehearsal is going late tonight apparently, Ileth thinks as he rolls over for the umpteenth time in Nehras’s bed. A long winded sigh leaves him in frustration as he tries to force himself to sleep. He remembers the breathing exercises his therapist taught him. He does them.

Five times.

He counts Halla, but as the hours drag on it becomes more and more apparent that he isn’t getting to sleep. For the fourth time in two weeks.

He rubs his face in exasperation. The therapist says that the ten year mark is the golden one, the one where residual spiritual energies of near possession are diminished to the point of not interfering. But the energies won’t take the memories and the fear, he thinks. So his insomnia will continue just like it takes over his mind now.

He wonders if it’s too late and inappropriate to sneak into one of his cousin’s bed now. Bedfellows help, and that’s a bit of the reason why he is frustrated with Nehras’s new conductor. He keeps everyone so late for the practices, it cannot be good for them. It certainly isn’t good for him.

…Oh great now he sounds selfish. He rubs his face again, wishing he could just sleep. His body is tired, his mind is exhausted, and yet….

The sleeping pills had been horrible, they made his magic feel weird and sluggish, distant almost. Locked away in the Fade while his body continued to walk around in the physical world. He wondered vaguely if that was a taste of Tranquility. If so…he should make cookies for Lela. Maybe a cake.

The idea has him down a rabbit hole of brainstorming. What kind of cake? He thinks cheesecake, she seems like a cheesecake kind of person. But what kind? There are hundreds of cheesecakes to choose from. Is she picky? Is she allergic to anything? He doesn’t think so, he hasn’t seen her deny any food presented to her and she always is the first person to say yes to food so…he should be alright with anything….but he’ll avoid peanuts just in case, that’s common enough, he can be cautious and still deliver on delicious.

That still leaves the question of what she actually likes. Hmm. Chocolate is a pretty common thing to like, that should be a good base. But he is no basic baker, he can do fun things. But those fun things depend on what Nehras actually has here.

He tosses the covers off and pads into the kitchen, rummaging around for anything that could be combined with chocolate and cheesecake.

Aha! Strawberries! Chocolate and strawberries is delicious!

He goes back into the bed area of the studio and pulls out his phone, quickly texting Maibrit.

\- Hey, Lela like chocolate and strawberries, right?

\- yeah! And what r u doing up??? It’s 1.

\- could ask u same thing!

\- finally got cooling chamber schematics to work!!!!!!

\- awesome!

In the brief time Maibrit spent at Ileth’s house, they had bonded over staying up all night doing things they probably had no business soing. But her mind never shut off and his just wouldn’t let him sleep, so they stayed up. And when she moved out to her own apartment, they had continued the tradition by texting each other. Texts turned into calls when she began to tinker and he began to bake and hands became important.

But now he thinks he wants the quiet of the night as he bakes. He is going to make a white chocolate cheesecake with chocolate ganache and chocolate covered strawberries on top. Yes, good. He can give it to Maibrit to give to Lela since it’s a romantic cake and it would be kinda weird for him to give it to her. Still, the thought is there.

He gets the cheesecake to chill and begins to work on the ganache when the door opens and a large draft of cold air billows in. An exhausted Nehras walks in, toting their violin case in one hand while the other rests on their chest. They fall back against the door and he wonders if he is going to have to carry them back to bed.

He washes his hands just in case.

Ileth dries his hands and walks over to his love, helping them unbundle from their long, cold trek from the other side of campus.

“How was rehearsal?” He asks gently and they let out a long pained groan. Ah, so not a good topic right now.

“I missed you,” he says sweetly, kissing their now exposed cheek. He pulls back with a smile that quickly falters when he sees the tears springing to their eyes. Oh, oh dear, they have hit that point of exhaustion where emotions just…they’re overwhelmed, clearly.

“’M sorry!” They cry softly before leaning against him, burying their face in his chest. Oh, ok, he can do this. He apparently is caring them to bed.

He slowly divests them of their coat, pullover, and cardigan before hoisting them up into his arms and walking them quickly over to the bed. He deposits them on the bed and strips them of their pants and checks at their sides to see if they’re wearing a bra or binder. Neither is good to sleep in so…aha. Binder today.

He takes care in stripping them, gently removing clothing until they let out a relieved sigh as he removes the binder. He gently rubs their sides and chest, trying to ease any pain or discomfort lingering there. He only leaves the bed to get their warm sleeping shirt. He slips it over their head and they promptly snuggle more intently into him.

Shoot, he’s got the cake going, he can’t ignore that but also…Nehras is here and quickly falling asleep against him, their magic a comforting presence in the quiet apartment. His own eyelids begin to droop which really makes the decision for him ultimately.

He waves his hand over at the bowl of ganache, quickly whispering a word for it to stay the way it is and for the nearby plastic wrap to slide over it. And if it is ruined, he can always make another cake for Lela.

His body relaxes and he snuggles into bed with his love, eyes sliding shut as he finally falls asleep to the soft sounds of their breathing.


	17. Mirwell and Moulinet

Varawell does not like physical touch.

With his clan it’s different. He will invite his parents’ affections, and his aunts and uncles. Virevas lets him do her hair. He doesn’t mind when Asarla threads her arm through his. His grandpapae Nithroel has always been respectful of him, and so he doesn’t mind when he claps his shoulder and hugs him after a successful show.

Then there’s Mirlen. She is always cautious, always asking. Is this okay?

She isn’t like the partner he had in high school, always pressuring him for more, and more. Vara eventually left them when everything got too overwhelming. Mirlen isn’t like that. Touching her isn’t a chore, it isn’t forced. It’s mutually consensual and comfortable for them both. He wouldn’t have known that he likes the feeling of her brush against his arm.

“Can I paint on you?” She asked the first time. Vara raised a brow, questioning.

“And that would accomplish what, exactly?” He asked. Mirlen smiled and shrugged, holding up a paintbrush.

“I just wanted try. It’s okay if you don’t want to,” she left the choice to him.

That’s what had mattered in the end, he thinks. Choice.

When she finally brought her brush to his skin, the paint was cold, but the hand holding his wrist is warm. It’s not wholly unpleasant, he thinks. She has her hair up in a bun and her eyes look very focused. Her tongue is sticking out a little bit, too. It’s… adorable, he finds.

She tilts her head and a few stray strands of hair follow, falling away and revealing her cheek. A light spray of freckles sit upon her high cheekbones and Vara thinks he very much likes the sight.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks. He immediately feels the heat rise in his face as her brush stops entirely and her own cheeks color. She allows him and he lays a soft kiss along her cheek.

 

~

 

Ferelden is cold. It’s very unlike Arlathan, where Varawell grew up.

He’s used to the cold though. He’s spent many hours on skating rinks that are kept at temperatures close to freezing either through magic, or through technological means, clad in leotards and other form fitting articles of clothing. It’s really the snow that is new.

“That movie was terrible, Mir.” Vara says as he pushes open the big tinted glass door. Mirlen giggles.

“That was the point of it. Terrible movies in great company is never a dull experience.” she replies. Vara supposes it’s true. It wasn’t as if he  _didn’t_  have fun.

They step into the night air and Vara feels the prickling sensation of the cold on the exposed skin of his face. Mirlen lets out a puff of air as she takes in their surroundings. Deserted city streets with a fresh coat of snow that is still coming down, glowing in the light of street lamps.

Vara pulls out his cellphone and checks the time. It’s well past midnight, and he supposes it would be the responsible option to take Mir back home, but part of him doesn’t want to. He thinks a walk might be nice.

Despite the snow and the cold, Mirlen herself doesn’t look nearly ready to call it a night. There’s that mischievous glint in her eye that tells him the gears in her head are turning. He doesn’t think it would be smart to go playing in any fountains tonight.

“Why don’t we take a walk.” he suggests before she comes up with anything too insane. He hopes a walk through the empty streets at almost 1 am would be adventure enough for her. She turns back and smiles, gently pressing a gloved hand to his arm and nodding.

Vara raises his elbow enough for her to thread her arm through. They walk down one of alleyways before turning into a local park, footprints in the fresh snow as it falls around them. Mir lets go of Vara and runs a little farther ahead.

“Mirlen.” Vara calls after her, but she bends down before throwing a snowball towards him.

Vara finds his magic quick enough to pull up a barrier to protect himself from the attack.

Oh, this is war.

“No fair!” Mir calls. Vara smiles as he dissolves the barrier and plucks at his magic to make a snowball of his own and throw it at Mirlen, who quickly dodges and packs another snowball to throw at him.

They fall into a game of snowball fights as their laughter fills the night air. He hit her with his snowballs several times, and she admittedly got him in the face.

They stumble into Vara’s car once they’re done. His cheeks hurt from all the smiling and the laughing, and Mirlen’s face is red. Vara reaches over with a gloved hand brushes her face and notices the color in her cheeks rise.

“There’s a snowflake on you nose.” he says.

 

~

 

“Vara how do you even do this?” Mirlen asks. Vara has her, though. Her hand rests lightly in his and he’s ready to support her if she falls.

“Lots of practice,” he replies. It’s true. He’s been skating for a long time, perfecting his technique and if he’s skilled it’s only because he worked for it.

Mirlen slides forward as she lets go of his hand, and he watches as she attempts to balance herself on the blades of her skates, bending her body forward. Vara brings his hand up to his mouth to stifle a laugh.

“What?!” Mirlen turns her head, and flails her arms but Vara is close by and he’s got her. She rests her hand on his shoulder and glares at him a little bit, but her eyes are soft and Vara just thinks she looks so adorable.

“Nothing, Mir. You’re doing great,” he says. It’s not a lie, by any means. He positions himself in front of her and takes her hands in his and begins pulling her forward gently.

Her shoulders stiffen as she slides toward him slowly.

“Relax,” he whispers, and smiles when she does. Vara likes this, he thinks. Mirlen is a reassuring weight on him, warm and solid and he doesn’t want to let go.

 

~

 

“It isn’t like you to be so nervous.”

Laurent glances up from where he’d been staring at the floor. Bastién leans against the wall, watching him. He’s nineteen, and a hothead, but he’s the closest thing to a friend Laurent’s got in the current tournament. He’d also begun following Laurent around a bit like a puppy ever since he’d started training with their coach.

Laurent looks back down at his hands. His fingers are trembling slightly. “I’m against Araldo Donicci for the Championships. Of  _course_  I’m nervous.” And it’s true that he is. The usual tension he feels at the beginning of these things seems to have quadrupled. He’s never been this worried about a match before.

“He’s faster than you.” Bastién nods. “ _And_  he’s bested you once before.” He seems to realize that his words aren’t helping, and begins to spin them to a more positive tune, “But you’ve got more reach. And that was all before the Summer Games.  _You_  took the Gold there.”

“ _He_  wasn’t there.” Laurent remembers, because the Antivan man had made quite a big deal about his absence, saying that he wouldn’t be attending the Summer Games so that he could focus on the more important World Fencing Championships. It was true that in the world of Fencing, the WFC mattered far more than the renowned Summer Games and the traditional Grand Tourney held in Fereldan every three years.

And this time…this time Rissa is watching. And not only is she watching but…but he’ll be wearing…

He glances down at the length of fabric in his hand. Dark blue fabric covered in golden stars. One of Rissa’s favorite ribbons.

They don’t allow the wearing of tokens at the Summer Games. It’s a more traditional gesture, and if the WFC is anything, it is traditional. He knows what it means, to tie this ribbon around his arm. He knows that the  _media_  knows what it means, for an Orlesian fencer to come out wearing a token.

He wonders if Rissa knows. He wonders if she’ll dislike the idea. What if she’s embarrassed? What if she thinks he’s overstepping? His fingers begin shaking again, as he stands. “Could you help?” He holds the length of fabric out.

“Isn’t the maiden supposed to tie it?” Bastién asks with a grin, but grabs the fabric, looking down at the design. “…you have a girlfriend?”

He doesn’t need to make it sound so surprising! Just because Laurent has never mentioned a girlfriend before doesn’t mean he’s incapable of having one. Though he supposes it makes sense that Bastién wouldn’t know. Since they’d begun dating, Rissa had been very busy with school and so hadn’t attended some of the smaller qualifying championships with his family. “She doesn’t know I’m wearing it. And yes. I…” He pauses. “If I beat Donicci, I’m going to propose.”

Bastién whistles. “Well you  _have_  to win now, or I’m going to find your girlfriend and tell her you lost because you have commitment issues.”

Laurent sighs and shoots a glare at the younger man just as he finished tying the fabric into a tight knot. “I never should have told you.”

Bastién grins. “But now the real pressure is on, right? And that’s what you really wanted. You work well under pressure.”

_I’m going to win this. I’m going to win this and I’m going to propose to Rissa at dinner and I’m_ not  _going to make a complete fool of myself._  Laurent sucks in a long breath through his mouth and out his nose, and focuses on the comforting pressure of the ribbon tied around his arm.

He thinks about the small velvet box tucked into his bag, and Rissa’s slow, shy smile, before he walks into the main arena to the roar of the crowd.

 

~

 

The air is getting colder. When Laurent opens the window he shivers a bit, and goes back to grab a blanket, and tucks the thermos of hot chocolate under his arm before hefting himself out and clamoring onto the roof.

His breath turns to steam before his eyes, still visible in the fading light of dusk; his knee catches on a roof tile and he winces. If Vermici could see him now, he’d likely have a heart attack at the sight of Orlais’ recent gold medalist climbing up two stories to stargaze.

And normally he’d be fully content to look at them from the safety of his living room, curled up next to Comte and sipping some old vintage of Antivan wine that Vivienne keeps him stocked with. But he isn’t here just for the stars.

“Hey moonbeam,” He grins as he hefts himself up onto the ledge and heads to where his rooftop partner is busy spreading out a blanket of her own. Even as the sky turns dark, her skin seems to glow. She smiles, and his heart skips a beat.

“I brought cookies,” Rissa states, holding up a Tupperware container, and then quickly finishing with, “Illeth baked them, they aren’t mine, I promise.”

Laurent grins, “I’d eat them anyway.” He settles down next to her, placing the thermos in his lap, as he offers his blanket for warmth. She accepts it gratefully, scooting a little closer so they can share.

He reaches over, slowly, and grabs her hand in his own. “It’s cold,” He explains with a shy smile.

Rissa ducks her head, and he can’t see it, but he can imagine the flush spreading across her cheeks. His grip tightens.

Laurent isn’t here just for the stars.

He’s here for the soft, tentative brush of fingers against his own, a warm arm pressed into his side as he curls the blanket tighter around them both. For the slight gasp of delight near his ear, as a shooting star darts past.

The stars are beautiful, he’ll admit.

But Rissa is prettier than all of them.

 


End file.
